


Down and Out in Hyperion, Washington

by FogMK



Series: Hyperion, Washington [2]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 61,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FogMK/pseuds/FogMK
Summary: Hyperion is your run-of-the-mill tiny town surrounded by a forest chockful of spooks, cryptids, and anomalies of all sort. You know, the usual in the Pacific Northwest! Juno's a local, Peter's not, but they've both experienced their fair share of the strange and unusual in Hyperion, whether it be the paranormal or just how the folks of Hyperion are.A collection of days lived in Hyperion, Washington, centered around the lives of our dear detective, his thief, and their neighbors. Set after Juno Steel and the Washington Devil.





	1. Drowned and Out

“Hello? Oh- Fog FOG! DOORMAT! DO  _ NOT _ COME INSIDE!” Skyler Stone watched in dismay as Fog Burns, laden with groceries, dripped in the vestibule.

It was a wet May morning in Hyperion, Washington. Rain was coming down in bathtubs, small rivers falling off people’s porch roofs. The downpour had started early in the morning, just missing Peter and Juno’s arrival at the antique store. Prior, the plan had been to go to the diner while Fog did their show at which Fog would meet them afterward.

Despite all of them being fairly smart people, they’d all forgotten Fog’s forecast of May Monsoon Season beginning and were now stuck inside as the Silimakeen wove its way down the street. The reason the plan had been to hit the diner was that between the two houses, neither had any groceries left to speak of. Juno, decent cook as he was, could only do so much with shredded coconut and orange peel. Fog, innovative and hardy as they were, could do nothing with turmeric and grape leaves. So Fog, ever willing to brave the elements and make a fool of themselves, volunteered to get some groceries. On foot. Because any vehicle on the now canals of Hyperion would surely hydroplane.

Through the window, Skyler could see water rushing down the street, five inches high. The mud, Skyler thought, was going to be horrendous later. Fog shook their head, spraying water everywhere with a grin full of mischief.

“A lil’ humid outside, ain’ it? Was like walkin’ through the Trinity. Got my boots brimmin’ with sky water!” Skyler heaved a sigh and looked to the ceiling, begging for mercy. Mercy came in the form of Peter Nureyev poking his head around the wall.

“What’s all this fuss- oh. Forecast delivered, I see.”

“I’ll say,” said Skyler. “Oh boy, Peter, could you please get that fool a towel?” Peter vanished back into the hall. In the hall lay a closet full of towels and other things, for anyone who came into the house in any state of being. Juno, coming from the kitchen with a cup of coffee, squeezed past his beau to survey the scene.

“Oh, wow. Damn pond in the doorway, that’s nice. It raining that hard outside?” Skyler rolled neir eyes and Fog laughed.

“Sure is! Water up to m’knees and zigzagging the whole way through! You shoulda seen, it’s loooon-attic out there!” Skyler was going to die.

“Fog, quit that. It’s lunatic, with a short ‘a’, not ‘loon-attic’.” 

The offender shrugged. “Rhymes with mechanic.”

“Dangit, you-! Juno, take the groceries. Fog, leave your boots in the doorway, I don’t want them in here. Peter where’s-” Peter launched a towel over Skyler’s head to land bullseye on Fog’s. From under the towel came a small “oof”. Juno shook Fog’s arms until they let go of the groceries and took the bags to the kitchen.

“Alright! Wonderful. Boots outside, get dry.”

Fog would have, under ordinary circumstances, gone right back into the rain, but they had a show to do in ten minutes. The only thing left dry on them was their keister, so in their underoos and a towel, they went to broadcast. Skyler shook neir head, picked up the wet clothes, and went to put them on the edge of the bathtub to drip.

While Peter unloaded the rest of the groceries, Juno started breakfast. Fog had bought everything to make pancakes and a can of maraschino cherries. Juno raised an eyebrow and put on an apron.

“What the hell am I going to do with cherries?” he wondered. Peter, done with the groceries, leaned against the counter where Juno was.

“What can a person do with cherries, I wonder… Hm… I put away some grapefruit so… Oh no.” Juno looked at him, concerned. “Someone is going to broil grapefruit.” Juno snorted and added milk to the flour in a bowl.

“Bet a dollar to nothing Fog’s gonna do it.” Peter made a face that mashed concerned with incredulous. “Oh stop that, if anyone can broil grapefruit and get away with it, you know it’s Fog Burns. Skyler can’t cook,  _ you _ can’t cook, and I sure as hell am  _ not _ grilling some fake oranges.” He ladled batter into a pan. “Well hello listeners!” they could hear from somewhere outside the kitchen, “Guess who’s gotta wet bottom today! Guess my forecast was spot on after all!” Fog’s radio voice followed up with the fact that now was the time to hit Wind River and Drano Lake for spring chinook.

“But Juno, now I’m wondering, what could the occasion possibly be?” Juno flipped around from the stove and pointed his spatula at Peter. Said man had the grace to put his hands up.

“I know that tone. That’s the ‘I am going to make a mystery outta this very inane thing’ tone,” said Juno. Peter Nureyev was the picture of innocence.

“Why, detective, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Juno squinted at him and turned to flip a flapjack. That man would make a mystery out of anything, and Juno was the detective. Skyler walked into the kitchen and stopped.

“I don’t know, but I have a  _ terrible _ feeling,” ne said. Peter hummed and gave Juno a plate to put the fresh pancakes on.

“I suspect it’s because Fog’s show should be finishing soon. And they bought grapefruit,” answered Peter. Skyler blanched.

“Oh  _ no _ , the bastard’s gonna  _ broil _ it.” Fog, as if summoned, appeared in the doorway now clothed in corduroys and a busted flannel with paint up the sleeves.

“You all makin’ a fuss about me broilin’ some fake oranges like some kinda children. Cain’t believe it, ain’t none a y’all ever broiled an orange?” The folks in the kitchen shook their heads. Juno scoffed and untied his apron.

“Why would I bother doing  _ anything _ with some bitter fruit,” he grumbled.

Fog rolled their eyes. “How’s it that I, a farmer and auto-mechanic, know about the miracle that is broiled grapefruit, and you all makin’ out it’s some kinda acquired taste thing? Skyler, get me that brown sugar.”

Skyler, dubious, got the sugar while Peter made a fresh pot of coffee and Juno got cutlery. In about five minutes, Fog had four grapefruit halves sugared, broiled, plated and on the table.

“Now you all can thank me and say you were wrong to be whiffed about my broiled grapefruit,” they declared. Peter, ever willing to jump headfirst into danger and also a person of refined palate, took a bite. He sat there, spoon in his mouth, for a moment.

“Juno,” he began. Juno looked over, very much worried. “If you don’t want yours, I’ll eat it.” Fog laughed and crowed in triumph.

“Toldja so!”

Juno, ever dubious but also a person who trusted the love of his life despite all odds, decided he wouldn’t die from eating cooked fake orange and went for it. That led to Skyler elbowing Fog in the ribs and eating neir grapefruit, so in the end two whole grapefruits were eaten, and Fog accomplished their private mission of getting good vitamins into their ‘people of the station’ crew.

By ten in the morning, a total of four grapefruits (eight halves), and twelve pancakes had been eaten. By ten-thirty, the rain had lessened enough for Juno and Peter to go home with whatever food Fog decided would keep them until the rain let up enough to shop properly.

An hour after that, Juno’s house had been swept and the laundry done.

“Nothing like a storm to get chores done, is there, darling?”

“Nope. Finally got the curtains washed too. Nothing left to do.”

“Join me on the couch then?”

“Sure, let me get my crossword.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the world of Hyperion, Washington! All stories are written like this: I find a picture that looks like it'd make a funny story, I write a teeny little (sometimes large) spitfic to my friend, then I rewrite it like this, based on my spitfic. All pictures of inspiration can be found on hyperionwa.tumblr.com, go visit!


	2. Bison in the Street

"PETER STOP STOP THE FUCKING CAR PETER!!!” screeched Fog.

"What!? Why what's wrong??!"

"BISON PETER!!!!”

Peter Nureyev screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. True enough, there a bison was in the left lane. Juno, shaking from the sudden stop, started yelling.

“Fog what the hell!? You can’t just scream in a car!” shouted Juno, in vain because Fog was already out of the car and on the road, Skyler right behind them.

The bison stood undisturbed, illuminated by the headlights of Peter’s Chrysler Alpine. Juno, grumbling about “that damned kid gonna give me a heart attack one day,” got out of the car and walked up to it. Peter turned out the light.

The four’d been up to Forks for the day; Fog had wanted Peter to meet a cryptid hunter they knew, interested as he was in the paranormal. Peter had jumped at the chance and Juno, on the grounds that Peter was going to get into “more of that damn occult business,” announced he was coming too. Skyler, always ready to go on a day trip with neir friend, also had some deals to do with an antiquarian up in Forks, so the timing worked out just fine there.

It was about midnight, and the moon was high. They’d been driving down back to Hyperion when the bison appeared on the highway. Hyperion being a small town present on only the oldest maps, there was hardly ever anyone on the roads. Fog therefore was in no danger of being mashed to asphalt.

Peter leaned against the hood of his car as Juno and Skyler inspected the beast, Fog crouched on the road.

“It isn’t so unusual as that to find animals out on the road is it? I mean, it is strange that this one’s not moving, but deer jump out all the time," Peter observed. Juno frowned and straightened up.

“Okay, first thing. Always stay at least 25 meters away from large animals such as elk and bison. They’re unpredictable. Second thing, bison aren’t endemic to the Pacific Northwest. They’re Great Plains animals, so I have _no_ idea what this guy’s doing here,” Juno stated.

“Also,” chimed in Skyler, “this thing is stuffed.” Ne tapped the bison’s eye. “See? Glass.”

Peter sputtered.

“You mean to tell me that someone left a stuffed bison in the middle of the road?” Fog got up and pulled out some scissors, smiling grimly.

“No, I think I know what’s up. Everybody, get back in the car right now ’cos in about one minute the poltergeist’s gonna wake up and give us hell, so we gotta travel,” Fog warned. Peter, having brushed with a ‘geist once, jumped in the car and turned on the ignition. Juno, who’d been staring the bison in the face, immediately raced back to the car and locked the door. Fog picked Skyler up in a fireman’s carry and ran back to the car, nem complaining the whole time.

“But Fooog! I could have put it in the shop!”

“Yea and we woulda been haunted all our known days!” They threw Skyler in the back, just as the bison began to glow green and rose. Juno shrieked. “Oh _jeezum_ Peter go!!” cried Fog. Peter hit the gas and the the Chrysler tore into the night, watched by a floating, green, stuffed bison.

 

About twenty minutes down the road, Peter asked, “Is it following us?”

“Naw, that thing’s got a range of a mile, it stopped back by the diner,” reassured Fog. Peter took his foot off the accelerator as Juno, who’d been holding onto the roof handle for dear life, exhaled.

“Well? Illuminate me, someone tell me what that thing was,” enjoined Peter. Juno rolled his eyes and cut Fog off as they opened their mouth.

“Damn thing. It’s the ghost of Jersey Shakes. Didn’t recognize it because it used to be in, what, a stuffed mongoose?” asked Juno.

“Yep,” quipped Skyler.

“Mongoose. Some guy died out in the woods and his family, who lived in Hyperion, ignored his wish to be stuffed, crazy guy. So his ghost got out and possesses any damn thing that’s got hay in it. Fortunately, he died right about there, so he can’t get into town.”

“Fascinating!” exclaimed Peter. Juno clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“Uh-uh, no. I know that tone. We are _not_ going back there. It’s one in the morning and I got work to do tomorrow. You are _not_ getting tangled up with another ghost, first time was enough.”

“Oh I know _that_ , Juno, but it’s still fascinating.”

“Tell ya what,” interjected Fog, “I’ll put it over the air on my show, ask everybody to come by with stories ‘bout ol' Jersey, yea? Keep him out of trouble,” they said to Juno. Juno nodded grimly and Peter smiled at the Fog in the rearview mirror. Skyler, who’d been half asleep, mumbled.

“Lemonade…”

“Oh sure,” said Fog, patting neir knee, “I’ll make some.” The Chrysler wove down the highway to Hyperion, the stars like glitter in the blue night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot! Big thanks to Skyler (irl) stoat (on AO3) mysterysolver (on tumblr) for being my editor and laughing at all my spitfics. I got the word jeezum from A Northern Light and it's a northern slang term, but what would you expect from Fog Burns, mechanic and radio personality extraordinaire? Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	3. The Elephant's Foot

"LACKADAY FUCK ALIVE!! SHIT-”

“Fog??” Skyler looked up in alarm from neir newspaper. Fog  _ never _ cursed. “What's wrong??”

"THE SOCKET'S DROOLING SLUDGE ALL OVER THE CARPET!!” Skyler got up and knocked the seat over.

“WHAT? NOT ON MY PERSIAN IT DON’T!”

Skyler rushed past Fog, who was going in the opposite direction, to see what the hell was going on and immediately recoiled upon entering the room. It was truly disgusting: a thick, grey sludge oozed out of an electrical socket and onto the floor. The first thing ne did was yank the carpet far away from the offending socket. Fog returned with a kerchief tied around their face, a shovel, a trash bag and a washtub. Gently but with alarm, they gave the tub to Skyler to hold under the socket. Then, with many noises of dismay, they scooped the sludge into a trash bag.

“What the FUCK even IS THAT?” cried the antiquarian. Fog, who by this point was finished getting the sludge into the bag, lowered their kerchief.

“Ce...ment...?? The heck... has the same texture as slurry…”

“Very strange…” Skyler watched as the sludge gently stopped oozing. “What could this be, I wonder…”

The sludge, for all that it looked like the Elephant’s Foot, did not smell, and the Geiger counter attached to the wall did not detect anything. For all intents and purposes, the sludge was simply sludge.

“Well!” exclaimed Fog, tying up the bag, “I’m gonna go see if Mose can get rid o’ this. Throw out the washtub.” Skyler nodded, mind elsewhere. As soon as Fog closed the front door, ne bent down, stuck a finger in the sludge, and stuck it in neir mouth.

“Fog was right, it’s wet cement. Oh, whoops.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I assure you, the picture this story comes from is truly perplexing and yucky, don't like it. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	4. Cryptids of Hyperion: Hyperion Nightcrawler

Juno listened as Peter talked about… something. He’d stopped listening a while back, content just to hear Peter’s voice. The air was heavy and smelled of ozone as Juno and Peter walked through Hyperion Woods. They’d been trekking through the forest, Peter to get used to hiking, Juno to keep an eye on Peter and to get out of the office.

“Juno, what’s that?" warned Peter, jolting Juno out of his daze. He pointed to a pair of blue jeans walking. Juno looked and blinked.

"What? Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “That’s a Hyperion Nightcrawler. Like the Fresno ones, except they're from here.”

"Are they dangerous?" Despite the question, Peter looked incredibly interested.

“Nah.” Juno shrugged. “If you can jump in ‘em they're just pants. Mose did that once. Been wearing the thing since ’34.” Peter looked at him in alarm. “So he says,” added Juno.

“Jumped? In a living being? That’s- but that’s impossible how on earth-?” Juno quickly kissed him and Peter went silent.

“Listen. I was a park ranger, not some paranormal investigator. You wanna know, you ask Mose or you ask the kids, don’t ask me.” Juno took Peter’s hand and walked up to the Nightcrawler. “I have  _ no _ idea why they’re called Nightcrawlers, they’re diurnal things. Root through trash too. You got any idea how scary it is to look out the window and some blue jeans are goin’ at the garbage? Worst thing ever.”

The pants trotted a little bit further as Juno approached it. Peter watched as Juno clicked his tongue at the denim until it sat down, and Juno let go of his hand to pat the Nightcrawler.

“They’re sorta like… horse dogs. Don’t really hurt anybody. Here, you touch it.” Peter didn’t need to do anything, though, as the blue jeans got up and began to, in a word, dance. Juno frowned. “Never seen it do that before.”

Peter cautiously put a hand out to the pants and drew back sharply when it jumped a clear foot in the air. With great enthusiasm and joy, the Nightcrawler began to jig all over the place and shuffled with increasing wildness.

“Hey! Youw’ll! BeGOAN!”

The Nightcrawler leapt at the sudden shout and fled in great strides. Peter startled and Juno yelped as the source of the holler tramped out of the woods, clad in old blue jeans with a rifle strapped to his back.

“What the hell, Mose! You scared the cuss out of us!” shouted Juno, still reeling from the sudden shock. Peter, quietly releasing a breath, put the knife back up his sleeve. Mose cackled out a laugh.

“Jeeeyyuno Stil, boy ranger you wa’, dontcha know not ta touch wild animals?” cackled the man, tromping up to them. He looked Peter up and down, and made a face of approval. “Hell now, ain’t bad. Ples’ to make yer ‘quaintance, Mysterious Mose, bookseller ‘n pharmacist,” said Mose, sticking a hand out. Peter, amused and mildly confused, shook it. “An’ don’t bother introducin’ y’self, I listen to Fog jus’ the same as anyone else.” Juno, breathing again and recovered from the shock, hooked an arm around Peter’s, for protection.

“Mose, what the hell are you doing in these woods?” grouched Juno. “Shouldn’t you be at the bookstore?” Mose turned and looked Juno up and down.

“Stil boy, now you listen here. You’s in mah neck a’ th’ woods. See th’ sign?” Mose waved his rifle at a weatherbeaten and tilted sign tacked to a tree: ‘Mose’s place, back 30ft’ it said. “I do what I want in mah neck o’ th’ woods, Stil, and neith’ you nor yer forest buddies can do nothin’ ‘bout it.” Juno rolled his eyes. Peter blinked. He thought he’d had experience, but understanding Mose through the accent was a hit or miss thing: Peter understood about every other word. Juno could see the mental gymnastics his beau was undergoing and patted Peter’s arm in consolation.

“That’s illegal, Mose,” Juno sighed. He’d had this conversation many times with Mose, both on and off the ranger force. Mose pulled a plug of jerky and chewed it with his forty-eight teeth. “Anyway, what’s got you so off about the crawlers? What was the hollering for?”

“Oah, that. Well see,” chewed Mose. “S’ matin’ season.” Juno looked like he’d been slapped across the face with an eel. Peter’s face contorted into a mix of discomfort and profound interest.

“They… can do that…?” choked Peter. Mose nodded sagely and plugged some more jerky.

“Hyyyeep. Was takin’ the shortcut to tell Fog for the news t’morrow. Youw’ll lucked in all that I showed up in time.” Mose cackled at the look Peter’s face. “Oah, yea, woulda been ugly to the Lord. S’boutta rain too.” Mose pushed his hat back up and patted Peter on the arm not held by Juno. “We outta time for questions fella, but if you got some, come by th’ pharma. Go oan you’s two, git! See youw’ll soon now, tell Fog h’lo.”

Juno, who’d been internally yelling for the past minute or so, shook back to life and turned him and Peter around. He took a brisk pace, dragging Peter behind him and shouting out a farewell to Mose, who waved.

“Juno,” started Peter, now back to earth. Juno made a noise of distress.

“Uh-uh. No. Not now. Run first, cryptids later.” The first drops fell and the two ran hell to the car, and soon as they slammed the doors shut, the sky opened. “Alright, shoot.”

“Juno, who  _ is _ Mose?” asked Peter. Juno threw his hands in the air and made a noise of annoyance.

“Peter, you just  _ had _ to ask the  _ one _ question I have no answer to. Ugh, let’s see. I think Mose’s been here since, what, Hyperion was founded? I don’t know when that was, but he says it all the time.” Peter raised a brow.

“But Juno, aren’t rangers supposed to know this kind of thing?” Juno snorted.

“Sure, the guides do. The folks who actually do their job and keep the damn tourists out on the trails don’t have that kind of time. Whatever. Anyways, Fog probably knows more about Mose than me, and Mose probably knows more than Fog.”

“Mm, I suppose you’re right. Well, next time I’m in town, I’ll go see him.”

“Ask him about the pants.” Peter nodded absently as Juno started the car and drove out of Hyperion Woods in the pouring rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I had the ugliest block trying to get the story to advance at all on account the spitfic was maybe 4 sentences long. I rerouted around that block by adding Mysterious Mose (a real person I've never seen but have heard personally). Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	5. Hyperion Fog (FM 10.20) #1

“Goooood morning Hyperion! You’re listening to Hyperion Fog, ten twenny on the radio dial! Well friends, as usual, there just ain’t that much to say in a town of three hundred people; not too much happens to talk about. But man must make do, so! Let’s see what I can rustle up.”

Fog glanced at their notepad and grabbed a pencil from their jelly jar.

“Alright, so. Hyperion Hell-Raisers made it to the next leg up on the road to nationals! They beat the Hogsley Hogs in their last game of the season, effectively winning them County, so… next season they’re on their way to Regionals! Yo! Dang!! That’s amazing! No sports team from Hyperion has ever made it past County! This is a _historical event_ in our time! I went to the game with Skyler, and those kids sure are somethin’ else at baseball. Smokes, I wish I could do what they do, th’only sport I can play good is double dutch. I s’pose I _could_ play baseball if I tried, but my coordination’s no good. Ask Juno, I trip over his front step every day. Skyler’s the fastest out of everybody at the station, though. Yea, Peter can keep up with nem ‘cuz he’s got them long ol’ leggies, but Skyler beat him the other day through _sheer force of will_. It’s actually sorta scary seeing Peter run, cuz he _concentrates_ . Man looks ahead and _travels_. Land sakes, but can that man go!”

In Juno’s kitchen, Peter laughed brightly over his coffee. Juno snorted at the stove. They’d made it a habit to listen to Fog’s show over breakfast, as otherwise they’d both sleep through the noon hour. Juno, for all he rolled his eyes at everything Fog said, did depend on Hyperion Fog for the news. And sometimes the paper, when he got it.

“Well now, I suppose my legs are going to be the talk of the town today.” Juno mumbled something along the lines of “they’re pretty good legs” and concentrated on not burning the eggs. Peter smirked.

“Yope, what else we got. Wind’s gonna be goin’ at a pretty good clip for the rest of the week so use good clothespins for the washing. Kite flying is recommended. Oh, that reminds me, I gotta do the washin’. Folks, I don’t know if you know it, but most of the washin’ in this house is Skyler’s. Fella sits behind a counter all day and more than half of the laundry in th’ hamper is neirs! Meanwhile I’m here wearin’ the same shirts for days on account I’m not about to do more than three loads of laundry, no sir. Bastard doesn’t cook, doesn’t do the washin’, never dusts. Room’s a big ol’ hole too, papers everywhere. Disgustin’. Takes me half an hour to clean that room I tell you what, it’s a mess. So for anybody who’s ever asked me why Skyler always smells damp, thas one o’ the reasons why.”

Skyler's eyes widened and ne giggled an “oops” in the air; ne always tuned in to 10.20 when going to Forks for errands. “Sorry Fog, I’ll make it up to you,” ne promised to the empty car.

“And now for what yours truly has recently heard on th’grapevine!” Fog paused to consult their notes. “Oh, excuse me listeners, I just remembered something important.” From under their notepad, Fog pulled out a hastily scribbled grocery list they’d forgotten to give Skyler before ne left. “Skyler, since you're in Forks can you pick up some screwdrivers, batteries, 3 ply toilet paper and that good lube? Motor and otherwise. Please don’t beef me about the toilet paper, listeners, you _know_ that anything less than 3 ply is of no use, terrible. It’s true! Also some lettuce. I’m gonna make a house salad. And if you see some nice fabric on sale pick it up, but otherwise don’t bother. Thank you Skyler!”

Peter, who had at this point taken the shortwave radio down to Juno’s office and was writing a grocery list, scratched lube off of it. Juno paused over his paperwork.

“And thanks for your patience listeners. Anyway, Senator McMurray left the county due to an infestation of wasps in his bathrooms, so he's outta town until further notice. So that means it’s happy hour all day today from now until midnight, according to this note from Valles Vicky. Go ham I guess! Um, Methodists up by the haunted church are gonna be holdin’ a bake sale in on Wednesday, supposedly to prove that the church ain’t haunted. Well that ain’t gon’ work, cuz everybody here’s seen them ghosts before. I went had a chat with some o’ ‘em few weeks ago. Lonesome folk, not as spooky as claimed. Aw _shoot_!” There was a big thump and the rattling of glass. “I forgot Nureyev listens to the radio, shoot, dangit I’m in trouble! Dangit! Juno’s gon’ come down like a bat outta hell any second now I gotta go! Thanks for listening! Fair winds and following seas!”

The On-Air sign clicked off and the sound went with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe the radio shows are in chronological order, they may be. How did Fog Burns manage to get onto the FM frequency? Sneakily, likely. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	6. Pocket Knives YES

Hyperion was a small town, it was true. Mick Mercury did his best to stock his store with as wide a variety of goods as he could, but even he wouldn’t stock items of little demand. That made it difficult for the more exotic minded folks in town to get their cravings fulfilled, which was why Skyler, Peter, Juno and Fog were driving the way up to Forks for some specific grocery items.

The car was peopled like so: Skyler drove, Peter rode shotgun, and Fog and Juno sat in the back, Fog daydreaming, Juno looking out the window. They were driving in Juno’s beat-up death trap, so naturally the stereo was broken; the crew drove in an unusual haze of silence.

Skyler was distracted, thinking about dinner, so it came as a complete shock when Peter suddenly shouted “KNIVES ON THE RIGHT!” while leaning halfway out the window. Naturally and as a reflex from having once been a getaway driver, Skyler pulled a hard right across three lanes of traffic into the knife driveway. Amidst an abundance of honking, Juno screamed in the backseat “WE WERE GONNA GET BANANA CHIPS!!”

Fog had been minding their own business in the clouds, and so did not know what was happening when they suddenly flew right into Juno’s side, who caught Fog under his arm by instinct. They chalked it up to That’s Just How It Is on the I-5 and held on to Juno’s coat for dear life. Driving the I-5 brought out the primal instincts in everyone.

Skyler was so concentrated on not getting hit on three lanes of traffic that ne hadn’t realized Peter hadn’t been shouting just for fun until ne pulled halfway up the driveway and saw a Pocket Knives YES sign on the grass. The whole car held its breath until Skyler turned off the ignition, then the car nearly collapsed in relief. Juno let go of the car handle, then Fog, heaving. Fog let go of Juno and flexed their fingers. Peter slid back into the car and breathed deeply.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me!” exclaimed Peter. Skyler looked at him in disbelief. “I saw knives and, how do you say it Fog?”

“Went ape primal?”

“…Yes.”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Juno. “We almost _died_ on the _highway_ for _roadside_ _knives_?” Peter opened his mouth to protest and Juno kept right on going. “Nope, that’s it. I’m driving the rest of the way, nobody is allowed to _touch_ my car after this except Fog. Now everybody get out.”

“Juno-”

“Absolutely not, we almost died for knives, we’re going to get knives, and they better damn well be made of gold.”

“Juno, gold isn’t-”

“ _Get out of my car Nureyev._ ”

They mostly filed out of the car and were met with an old, heavyset man with the strongest mustache any of them had ever seen.

“You here for knives now?” asked the man in a gruff, deep voice from under his mustache.

“Ah, yes?” answered Peter.

“Was it you makin’ a ruckus on the road.”

“Ah-” a meaty thump resounded from the other side of the car and they all turned to see Fog flat on their back in the driveway, gasping a little bit.

“Door jam,” they wheezed. Before anyone could react, the man walked around Juno’s car and picked Fog up under the arms, dangling them a foot above the ground.

“I know your voice,” said the man. Fog tilted their head and scrunched their eyebrows.

“And I… know yours… You’re that man! The Knife Major, Charlie Horse! You called a few months ago!” Fog realized and waved their arms as best they could. “I write down everybody’s name that calls, so I don’t forget!” Charlie Horse, who up until now hadn’t moved a single facial muscle, smiled, and his eyes disappeared under his cheeks. He put Fog down and put a big hand on their head.

“You’re the voice of Hyperion Fog, Fog Burns. Thank you for that ad boost by th’ way, made a buncha profit. My wife loves your show. Who’re these yahoos?” he gestured to the yahoos in his driveway.

“My friends! It is true, they are yahoos,” Fog added, appraising their crew. Peter looked miffed at the insult. Skyler chuckled and Juno just rolled his eyes. “We were gettin’ groceries up in Forks when Peter,” Fog waved a hand at Peter, who raised an eyebrow. “Hollered knife. And so we crossed three lanes of traffic and ended up here. ‘Pologies for it, can we get a knife?”

Charlie Horse appraised Fog’s company, appraised Fog, and nodded, stroking his mustache.

“Alright. Follow me, I’ll show you knives.”

Charlie Horse led the crew to a small shed on the side of the house, Juno grumbling and bringing up the rear. Knives of all kinds were everywhere inside: a great many large ones were hung on the wall like decoration, a glass case by the door held a treasure trove of pocket knives of all shapes and handles while some moderately sized knives hung from the ceiling, gently turning on their ropes. Juno shut the door behind him and saw an umbrella holder full of swords. He backed right into Peter, who looked ecstatic beyond words. Skyler shook Fog like a leaf in an effort to contain neir excitement. Charlie Horse sat down heavily on a stool behind the glass counter, waved his hand with grandeur and proclaimed, “Go Ham.”

Neither Fog Burns nor Juno Steel had ever seen two people move so quickly. It was like watching two clean tornadoes walk a Black Friday Sale in mute. Juno Steel was more a gun kind of dame, and Fog, well. They just crouched on the floor, eyes wide open and darting everywhere.

“How’d you get this place, anyway?” asked Juno. “What’s up with the knives?” Charlie Horse looked down at the little dame.

“This is my house,” stated Charlie Horse matter-of-factly. “I make knives. I trade knives. I sell knives.”

“Yeah, I know a couple of folks like that.” Juno watched Skyler and Peter make a bet over a small pocket knife. To be fair, the knife was beautiful: the blue marbled handle was surrounded by swirling gold embossing, the blade itself a light golden color.

“Juno!” called Skyler. “You ever seen Bigfoot?”

Juno snorted. “’Course not, Bigfoot doesn’t exist.”

Skyler shrieked in indignation and Fog, crouched by Juno’s side, smacked him in the calf. Peter laughed, newly acquired knife in hand, walked across the shed and lowered his head to Juno’s, arm around his shoulders.

“You have seen Bigfoot, haven’t you though?” Peter teased softly.

“I don’t have to answer you,” muttered Juno, looking away. Peter smiled. Of course his lady would deny it and win Peter his bet.

Skyler heaved a great sigh and walked to the counter, knives in hand. Peter lay down his choices down on the glass case counter. Fog got up and gaped. Charlie Horse’s eyes widened. On the counter lay nineteen knives of varying shapes and sizes, some pocket, some dagger, some Bowie, and a scimitar. Charlie Horse looked at this ceiling and his walls. Yes, these two glass-eyed yahoos had cleared him of… twenty-one knives?

“Here, Fog,” said Skyler, rustling around in neir sleeves. “I couldn’t hold them all, here’s one for you.” Ne put down on the counter an red handled pocket knife with the words “Only fools get nicked” on it. Peter went through a pocket and produced an assisted-opening knife with a black, utilitarian handle.

“I too, ran out of hands.” Juno made an interesting face, a mix between worry, appreciation, and apprehension.

“Thanks… but I don’t need one?” he ventured. “I’m a gun kinda dame, myself.”

“Nonsense, Juno,” quipped Peter, pulling out his wallet. “Everyone needs a good knife, whether they like it or not. Best to be prepared for anything, hm?”

“Yeah, I guess,” sighed Juno, “But you’re not paying for me,” he declared. “Fog get him.”

“It’s too late!” they cried, extremely pleased with themself. “Me and Skyler covered it while you two were busy chit-chatting!” Fog leaned on Skyler, Charlie Horse counted bills, looked at the total, and gave back the change.

“Red knife’s free, because you did an ad for me,” added Charlie Horse at Fog’s indignant face. “I don’t give knives away for nothing.” Fog narrowed their eyes and took it, then grinned. Charlie Horse put the rest of the knives in a paper bag that said “Pocket Knives YES” on and gave it to Peter.

Charlie Horse stood up, pushing off the counter, rattling all the knives within and led the crew back out to the driveway. Before they got back into the car, Charlie Horse put a hand on Fog’s shoulder. He turned Fog around and took their very small hand in his very large one, and shook it.

“Pleasure doing business with you. Come back sometime,” he said.    

Fog beamed. “You too! Thank y’for the knife! Come by Hyperion anytime!” Fog would have said more, but Juno called. So, still beaming, they said goodbye to Charlie Horse, wiggled their way back into the car from the window, and waved as Juno pulled out of the driveway.

Juno had mostly forgotten what he’d said before, so Peter still sat shotgun.

“Peter,” he said, voice lowered so Fog and Skyler, who were looking at the knives, wouldn’t hear him, “We’re paying for groceries.”

“Of course.”

   —————————

Forks, being what it was, was uneventful. Skyler went to the flea market to see what ne could find, Fog and Juno went to the grocery store for necessities, and Peter went off to find some books that were “not about cryptids”. Which meant, of course, that they were to be solely on cryptids.

The four drove back to Hyperion now loaded with, in addition to the twenty-one knives, two burlap bags of dried mango, a trellis, hot sauce, three books on cryptids (to Juno’s great annoyance), an aloe vera plant and a whole new grill. Skyler had bargained for it at the flea market, and the grill was, in fact, ancient.

“I had to, Juno, it was practically free,” ne whined.

“Nothing’s free in this life Skyler, how much was it.”

“Four bucks.”

“Wow, that’s actually not bad. You pass this time. What about you Peter, what’s the book on.”

“It’s quite interesting, Juno. It’s called Sur la Piste des Bêtes Ignorées. It’s regarded as one of the best and most influential cryptozoological works of our time. I didn’t think I’d actually find this book, much less in the original French.”

“Which none of us are, so what’s that mean.”

“On the Track of Unknown Animals, by Bernard Heuvelmans.”

“Uuugghhh, more of that hooey, Peter, why do you read that stuff? Guy’s a quack.”

“I know that guy!” exclaimed Fog, and reached around the front seat to link their hands loosely around Peter before he could retort. Peter looked at Fog.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh! He helped the guy who draws the Tintin comics figure out the possibility of human space travel and the script for Destination Moon! I didn’t know he was a cryptowhatnot!”

“Cryptozoologist?”

“Yea that!”

Skyler and Peter looked at Fog. Juno looked at Fog in the rearview mirror.

“Fog, Fog, Fog,” Skyler said fondly, shaking neir head. “What will we do with you?” Fog beamed again.

“Oh hell,” realized Juno. “We forgot the banana chips.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Horse is based off the strongmen from old circuses, bald with the big mustaches, except Charlie Horse is tougher still. I discovered the Bernard Heuvelmans thing by accident a year ago in astronomy class and it never left me! That piece of news was really something else. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	7. Rock and Rob

The town of Hyperion set it clock around its radio show. Every morning, at nine, without fail, Fog would switch the ‘on air’ sign on and start telling the town whatever they deemed was important; any events taking place in the day, local sport wins, current sales, and the things that happened in the day to day at the garage. Interesting things happened in a town like Hyperion, so it was only natural that that strangeness translated to uncommon events at the radio station. ‘Uncommon’, well, for any other town, maybe. It was just the daily in Hyperion.

"Gooooood morning Hyperion, Washington! You're listening to Hyperion Fog, 10.20 on the radio dial. Well, same as always, listeners, never was and never is much news in our tiny town. The Hyperion Hell-raisers made it to county! They’ll be competing against the other little league teams from the six or so surrounding counties, and competition will be fierce, so let’s give our kids all the support we can!

“Police over in Old Town told me to tell y’all that there’s been a rash of robberies at the Oldtown Museum of Natural Science and to call them if you have any information regarding it. Police also neglected to give me a number to call them at so I won’t bother. I also have for you, mm, a PSA. If bricks are missing out of your storefronts or residences, please come over by the garage as soon as possible because Skyler’s been goin’ ‘round again, um, eating rocks. Thought we had enough for the grocery budget this week but seems not! The kitchen and vestibule are full of them, so boy am I glad the garage is made of cement!”

A slam echoed over the radio and everyone listening could hear a muffled “Juno, no, please-" before Juno Steel, Private Eye, started yelling.

"Skyler Stone you better be listening QUIT ROBBING THE MUSEUM AND PETER QUIT ENABLING NEM!” Even if nobody could see it, the whole town listening could hear Fog’s look of disapproval.

“Juno Steel, quit hollering over the radio, you want the whole town to know your business? Skyler’s up front- oh he left. There's fruit salad in the fridge if you want it!”

Skyler, who’d been listening on neir shortwave radio at the antique store counter, laughed.

“Sorry Juno,” ne said, putting another pebble in neir mouth, “but I gotta make ends meet somehow…”

“Sorry, listeners, it’s tough living with a detective sometimes. Easier now that Sneaky Pete’s here- oh whoops.” Fog’s voice dropped to a whisper, as if lowering the volume would somehow make a difference with the whole town listening. “Skyler coined the name and Peter _hates_ it, says it’s undignified. Listeners, please do _not_ tell him I said that.”

Peter, who was sitting at the window in his and Juno’s apartment and listening to the radio, heaved a great sigh and made a face of distaste. He was going to have _words_ with the radio host. But after the broadcast.

Fog’s voice went back up to a normal volume. “Our mailman says that the Eagles are playing the Giants, whatever that means, so sure as fire there’s gonna be a scrap with the degens from upcountry tonight. Brace yerselves folks, it’s gonna be a hot one!”

The broadcast paused as the town seamstress came in and handed Fog a note. Skyler let anybody into the back room that had an ad for the show.

“Alright! And Miss Ida says that tucks and shirtwaists are 10% off _if_ you can pull off heels and prove it, so Peter, go wild. That looks like all I have for today, friends! Thanks for listening, fair winds and following seas!”

Fog turned the ‘on air’ sign off, stretched and walked into the antique shop. Skyler waved. Juno sat on the counter, eating his fruit salad and complaining about his life between bites.

“You guys are the worst. _You_ eat river stones whole, _you_ run the Town Gossip Column and don’t wear shoes, and _my boyfriend is a goddamn cryptid hunter_! What the hell did I do to deserve this!” whined Juno.

“By this, did you mean an exciting life filled with thrill and mystery? Because if so, then you deserve quite a lot of it, Juno,” Peter Nureyev said as he walked into the antique store, sending Fog scuttling behind the counter. Juno looked away, beet-red, and Skyler laughed and shook neir head.

“Welcome to Sticks and Stone’s Antique Store, we got a sale on a grumpy detective and a fool radio host, how’re you today?” ne proclaimed. Peter quirked a smile and kissed Juno on the cheek.

“I’ll take the grumpy detective, I think,” he chuckled as Juno grumbled and ducked his head, then leaned over the counter to find Fog. They looked up and began to sweat.

“Fog,” said Peter, voice so threatening it sent Skyler flying to the back room. “If I hear anyone in town call me ‘Sneaky Pete,’ I will make you vacuum the apartment by yourself and mop the floors, am I clear?” Fog nodded vigorously. “Good. Now, I am going to make good on my purchase of ‘grumpy detective’ and get some lunch in him.” He turned to leave, throwing “Take care you two!” over his shoulder as an afterthought and holding Juno by the arm. Juno was sputtering and blushing the whole way out the door.

Skyler put neir head out the door. “He gone? Oh lordy, Fog, you’re in heaps of trouble bud.”

“Wouldn’ be a day if one of us didn’ get in trouble with the one of those two wouldn’ it?”

“Suppose not. What’s for lunch?”

“Oh, I don’ know. Granite and dill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend Alice helped cement the name Sneaky Pete and we got scolded in class for it. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	8. Hyperion Fog (FM10.20) #2

"Goooood morning Hyperion. You're listening to Hyperion Fog, ten twenny on the radio dial. Yeah, no, this radio host is _not_ super pleased right now. You all wanna know why? I'll tell you. Cussed degens from upcountry came by in the night and bust all the mailboxes in town. So tonight, the Danger Committee’s returnin’ the favor and headin’ up to Oldtown. Let's put it this way: I suggest folks in the troupe stock up on hydroxide and bandages ‘cuz mad blood will be a'flowin. Thas it for the old.” Fog shook their curly head and beamed at their microphone.

“Now for the news! For anyone who was wondering if I was mad about my hair, rest assured, I am pleased as punch! Our very own salon owner has decided to expand his business to dyeing hair, and since no one in th’area would let him practice, I did. Skyler says I make the pink and blue work, and I gotta say I agree! My hair’s all curly and cotton candy colored now! Juno says I look like Trix cereal but if it hadn't been me it woulda been him so I _suggest_ he keep his big mouth shut about that. He also says that Peter shoulda used a wig to practice on but neither him nor I nor Peter thought of that in th’heat of the moment and so you can't say anything about that either, Juno Steel. Otherwise- OPE hang on listeners, the mail's here.” Fog covered the microphone and hollered out the door. “SKYLER, MAIL’S HERE!” A muffled “Thanks!” resounded from the storefront. Fog put took their hand off and blew a pink strand of hair out of their face.

“Anyway, I forget what I was saying! I’m real charmed by this new hair, but for now, I suggest folks stick to gettin’ haircuts. ’Til at least Mr. Mystery gets his bearings on the colors. Not too good for camouflage, these colors, it’s true. Lessee, news can’t be all about my hair and the station doings so what do these notes say… alright!

“Mysterious Mose gave me this and said to read it on air and it says that… everybody in town’s gotta get their places decorated and ready for October next week! Dang! That time of year already! Seems like only yesterday I was hosting the summer barbecue and keeping the Sequoyah Kids from making off with all my ginger ale and other soda pops. Time sure is flyin’ I’ll tell you what. Ah, I also completely missed that school started up last week too, oh boy. Well this is old news now, but school’s started up again for the season. I never went to school m’self, being a farmer kid way out in the middle of the New Mexican prairie. All my learnin’ I got from my mama. Pretty good learnin’ all things considered, I can do my maths, readin’ and writin’ down pat. Nothin’ left to be desired, I think! But don’t take this as an excuse to not go to school kids, learn a trade and be a help to yourself. Always pays in times of trouble. Hm? Oh, give me a second listeners.” Fog took off their headphones and mouthed ‘what?’ to Skyler gesturing in the doorway. Skyler motioned Fog to come out to the storefront, closing the station door behind them both.

“Ms. Mary Anne just called from the school,” declared Skyler. “Apparently instead of morning assembly, all the classes just listen to your radio show! Supposedly to teach kids about the community and its values.” Fog clapped their hands to their face in dismay. “And Ms. Mary Anne wanted me to tell you thank you for telling the kids to stay in school, on account they already started their back-to-school protesting, so she says. She’s a little miffed you missed the start of school but forgives you on account of, and I heard her say this to her class through the phone, “that poor radio host never got any kind of school learnin’ so they probably never learned the calendar properly”.” Fog raised an eyebrow and dropped their hands.

“Well I never did learn the calendar, but I missed school b’cause I don’t go and I don’t frequent anybody who goes to school on the daily,” protested Fog. Skyler chuckled and pushed them back to their studio.

“I’m back folks! Turns out that instead of morning assembly, the school just puts me on the radio to teach kids about the community and its values, so says Skyler. Well, um, I’m charmed, thank you, but I do wonder, is that a good idea? Considerin’ I live in the vicinity of a very rowdy detective and a very rowdy antiquarian. Nobody gives me more guff than Juno Steel I tell you what, but he do mean well. Aw beans, thas right, he listens to the show too. Mmdangit. Alright well, I'll deal with that when he appears, so onwards.

“October is right around the corner folks, so you know what that means; stock up on weapons, talismans and so forth. For my friends who are naturally ghost repellent, meditate or find a different way to strengthen that energy. Mysterious Mose is on watch and patrol, so don’t worry if you see him prowlin’ the yard. Me an’ Skyler are gonna be on watch too, so there’s that. General store restocked on supplies so get geared before the month’s end if possible. Mose is selling talismans and stuff at the pharmacy, I’m doing discounted repairs for anyone who needs them, and Sticks and Stone’s is running a sale on… cursed items if anyone knows how to use those. Peter Nureyev, please do not attempt usin’ one, you don’ know what your doin’, trust me and Juno here.

“Once October rolls around, so does the annual Autumn Craft Fair! Arts and crafters will be selling handmade knickknacks and doodads all over the place, so go on over and grab stuff to decorate your house and kitchen for the upcoming season and holiday! The fair’ll be hosting all sortsa activities such as apple bobbing, making your own crafts with an abundance of feathers and glitter, scarecrow making, jousting apparently, that’s a new one, candle dipping, and all other sortsa things. The Cultural Department came by with lots of flyers so if anyone wants a complete list of what there’ll be at the fair, come by my place, the general store, or drop by Within the Wires for a flyer.

“Friends, we all know that when it comes to glitter, Skyler is all about that, to my eternal misfortune. Kid gets it all over the place; I turned on the sink once and glitter came out in the water, most frightening. But it’s alright, I allow it. In exchange for getting sparkles all over the house, ne gets to chop wood for the winter. Now on my end, I generally just do the shoppin’ with Juno. But jousting? Fellas, you all know I’m on that. The timing here is excellent b’cause now Peter can replace me in the shoppin’! Juno’s been comin’ by less since Peter got here which is good for my show, but makes my life less interesting, gotta say. Skyler snoozes around the clock now, that fella needs a hobby other than polishing swords and whatnot. Ah well, thas life!

“Kiddos listening, I need somethin’ from you. This Halloween, we gotta make the spookiest costumes around. None of those weak store-bought costumes like the country club kids up in Oldtown have, no sir. We are going to make the ugliest, most upsetting, and scariest costumes this side of the Hyperion National Forest, me included. I’m gonna spend a week or so collectin’ supplies so that around mid-October we can start makin’ costumes. Kids, I need you all to help me collect stuff and inspiration until then. Come by the antique shop if you want to or visit Mysterious Mose, these places are plenty strange. Heck, chat with Juno, he’s pretty strange himself! Peter, mm, he’s more intimidatin’ than scary, so I dunno ‘bout that path.

“Alright, that’s about everythin’ I have! Thanks for listening, and big thanks to Hyperion Elementary for listening to Hyperion Fog! Fair winds and following seas!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cotton candy hair came from a dream Skyler had and so I wrote it in, since it's the closest I've gotten to manifesting this in real life. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	9. Deck Musings

The month of July had rolled in, bringing with it high temperatures and lazy, sleepy days of cicada screams and sunshine. Business had crawled to a standstill, what with everyone napping the afternoon sun away; the garage and antique shop were no exception. And tourism? No. As for Juno, it was just too hot to do crime, so he had the day off as well.

Fog, Skyler, Peter and Juno lay outside, in different positions depending on personality. Fog lay gently dozing in their lawn chair. Skyler and Juno shared a picnic blanket on the ground, Skyler with a handkerchief on neir face, Juno with an arm flung over his, both dying in the heat. Peter had claimed Skyler’s lawn chair and was reading the paper. A shortwave radio sat on the floor, quietly playing Buckeye Jim by Burl Ives.

“Nureyev,” wheezed Juno, moving his arm to look up at Peter. “What the hell are you? It's boiling out here, how are you not sweating?”

Peter looked up from his paper. “Oh, darling, if you knew where I'd been you wouldn't bother sweating here either,” he said, amused. Fog jolted right awake and Skyler leaned up on neir elbows, handkerchief floating down. Juno’s eyes widened in alarm. Peter looked to the heavens.

“I simply mean that New Orleans was by the sea and that it was very humid, therefore making it much hotter than here. You people, honestly.” Skyler dropped back down and Fog exhaled.

“Whoof. This reminds me o’ that one summer last year. You fellas were on the floor too, r’member Skyler?”

Skyler put neir arms under neir head. “Aw yeah, the one before Pete got here, huh? That was something. Tell whatever story there is, Fog, give us something to do. I’ll help.” Peter folded his paper up and Fog laughed.  

“That first time Juno joined ya on the floor, that was somethin’ else.” Juno rolled onto his stomach and rolled his eyes, ready to listen. “The month, if’n I recall correctly, was early July. Jus’ like now, it was too hot to breathe. At this hour, ev’rybody was either traveling out of town or asleep, not a single soul was doin’ anythin’, least of all us two. Business? None. Tourists? Even less. So me and Skyler were out in front of the shop exac’ly like now, me in my lawn chair, Skyler on the floor, hankie an’ all.”

“I was dozing,” interjected Skyler, “When I felt somebody poke me in the side and tell me to scoot over. Now normally, I’d’ve gotten up and had some words, waking me up from a nap like that, but as Fog so well said, it was too hot to breathe, least of all to fight. So I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Some hours later, about sunset, I woke up. And remembered that somebody had said something. So I turned around and ‘lo and behold, there was Juno Steel, out cold on my picnic blanket.” Fog let out a little whoop and Juno rolled his eyes again. Peter chuckled. “At that point I was up, and so was Fog. And I distinctly remember you saying… dang I think it was something prophetic, that’s why I remember, what’d you say Fog?”

“I think I said somethin’ along the lines of ‘that man needs someone t’live with.’” Skyler snapped and nodded.

“And I said ‘that someone had better be mysterious’ and you followed with ‘they better show up before the next barbecue’ and I agreed, that’s the story. Dang! It came true!” Skyler shook neir head, mildly mystified. “Who woulda guessed Peter Nureyev woulda lit upon our small town, swinging in on a beam of starlight.”

“Oh, likely no one, least of all me,” acknowledged Peter agreeably. Juno rolled back over and groaned.

“Nice story Fog, Skyler, but if either of you got a story about stopping the heat, I’d be glad to hear it.”

Fog and Skyler shared a glance. “Well, this isn’t a story so much as a solution, but I think you’ll like better anyway.”

———————————

“One time back in Taos, humidity got all the way up to a hundred percent. Got so wet, it was like walkin' thru a curtain of water,” rattled Fog, Skyler’s arm slung around their shoulders. Push had come to shove, and the heat had gotten the best of the people on the blanket. That was why Fog and Peter were carrying Skyler and Juno, respectively, through the woods behind the garage to the lake. To Skyler and Juno’s consternation, Fog and Peter had spent the whole walk chatting about the most humid it had ever been in their respective hometowns.

“I do believe one hundred percent humidity is rain,” remarked Peter, holding Juno up by the waist.

“That'll explain the rain then!” exclaimed Fog. Skyler wheezed once, gently.

“PLEASE can you two stop talking about the weather and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT?” fumed Juno at the lake’s edge.

“Well, darling, if you insist.” Peter, with all the grace he possessed, shoved Juno right into the water, Juno yelling the whole way. Fog, who wore their swimsuit during the whole month of July as a precaution, swung Skyler into their arms and just walked them both into the water.     Skyler sat in the water for a few moments, absolutely silent, before very suddenly turning towards Fog and splashing them hugely in the face. Fog sputtered and opened their mouth just to inhale a mouthful of lake water as another huge splash erupted behind them, catching Skyler in it, to neir immense surprise. Skyler and Fog turned to see Peter Nureyev waving wetly and grinning at the both of them for a second before Juno Steel, Private Eye, dunked him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This used to be an in the moment piece and it was very short, so I reworked it into a flashback and combined some spitfics to make This! At the time it was Mid-June and extremely humid where I live. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	10. Hyperion Fog (FM 10.20) #3

“Goooood morning Hyperion! You’re listening to Hyperion Fog, ten twenny on the radio dial! I hope you all are in a cool and dry place, ‘cause over here at the station, it is just wetter than bathtubs. Water coming out of everybody like a pitcher plant. I myself am wearin’ a swimsuit under my overalls I tell ya what! The month of June is announcing itself with an unusual week of 85% humidity and temperatures of ninety plus degrees. An uncommon heatwave, to be sure. I just love starting my summer by sweating like a ham! So-”

Fog pulled their headphones off. “Dangit Juno, caintcha see I’m recording? If yer so damn hot, stick your head in the freezer, sit in the tub. Not my fault your fan bust and you’ve got trash insulation. Heck, go to the pharmacy if it's so bad.” Fog put their headphones back on. “Speakin' o’ the pharmacy, it's swamp season, so anybody hit with swamp eye, swamp leg, or, heaven forbid, the dreaded swamp ass, talcum is 20% off for the opening of the sweating season. Seasonal flavors at Screamin' Mimi's have returned too, so go on over to the ice cream parlor for a fresh scoop of local strawberry ice. Juno-Juno, listen. My wallet is in the kitchen. Take it, take Peter, if Skyler is out there take Skyler, and take yourselves over and get some ice cream. Wh- hang on listeners.”

Fog put a hand over their microphone to muffle the sound and started hollering across the shop. “Peter! Where- oh, Peter go to the kitchen and get my wallet, Juno doesn’t wanna. Take him and Sky and go get some ice cream please? What? Who  _ cares _ that it’s 9 am, it’s summer! Live large! Me? I’ll be fine go on and get ‘im outta my studio!” Fog waited until Peter pulled Juno out by the waist and took their hand off the microphone.

“Alright listeners, sorry about that. Over here at the station, it is just as hot as pits. Skyler's wearing cargo shorts, never seen nem in anything shorter than capris before. Juno, I'm sure you heard 'im, is wearing swim trunks and a croptop.  _ He _ says he found it but I don’t, myself, believe him. As for Peter, well. If anyone sees that wild son of a gun today, tell him to pick up some charcoal and put in an order for gourds and seasonal veg at the general store. It’s nothing pressing, but we gotta plan the annual summer barbecue!

“And me? Well, compared to Skyler and Juno, I'm doing just fine. In New Mexico, it hit 110 in the summer once. Warn't nothin green for miles. Warn't nothin green for miles in the summer at 90 degrees either so no surprise there. Peter’s from New Orleans,” they pronounced it New Orleens, “so he doesn’t bother sweatin’ either. Full truth and no jokes though folks, this is unseasonal weather, so watch the elderly and kiddos and keep ‘em hydrated. Fishing season opens the first friday of June, so get your poles in line, I hear the fish will be biting! Head over to the tackle shop up by Miss Ida's for more details. Or the general store, Mick runs ‘em both.

“Folks, back in the Land of Enchantment, the hotter a summer started, the more exciting the rest of it was gonna be. My grandpa said specifically, "the hotter the June, the more incredible the July," so here's to an excellent and fantastic summer folks! Stay tuned for an hour of June tunes, curated by yours truly, with input from our local romantic. As always, this is Fog Burns, wishing you fair winds and following seas!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on real life experiences when Skyler came by to visit me and complained about the heat which, yes hot, but I still went around wearing a hawaiian shirt over a tank top and lived so I don't know what that was about. Nothing funnier to us from the Blackland Prairie than hearing folks complain about the heat. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	11. Herbology of the Youth

Somebody had flicked a paintbrush full of white paint over the night sky and washed it with stars. Said somebody also forgot a moon, and so it was beneath the new one, lit only by starlight, that Fog Burns and Skyler Stone hunted for herbs.

“Whatcha got, Sky?” Fog called, rising from a clump of tall grasses.

“Well, I found some peppergrass, burdock. Some salsify, I think,” Skyler sighed, hoisting neir bag higher over neir shoulder. “Silverweed, some other stuff.” Ne waded through the grasses to Fog, grabbed their hand, and pulled them up. “Grabbed whatever looked leafy.”

Fog made a face, opened their mouth, and closed it when Skyler yawned. “Okay,” they said. “We’ll go through them tomorrow, yea? Bedtime.” Skyler nodded, half-asleep.

 

“Morning!”

“’ll never get used to seeing you up and bright so early. When’d you get up?”

“Seven, like always.”

“Seven, my gosh…” mumbled Skyler, taking a seat at the kitchen table. It was 10 o’clock on a Sunday morning; the antique shop was closed, the garage was open, coffee sat steaming by the stove, and two huge bags of leaves lay on the table, waiting to be sorted into bowls from last night’s herb foray. Fog moved around the kitchen, putting fresh biscuits on the counter and  frying eggs. Skyler poured nemself a cup and stole a biscuit, dipping it in neir coffee while Fog squawked. Ne didn’t usually miss Fog’s morning broadcast, but made an exception for weekends. It didn’t really matter anyway whether ne heard it or not, because somehow or other, whether it be Fog repeating their whole broadcast to nem or simply gossip, Skyler figured out the day’s doings.

Ne was halfway through the biscuit when Peter and Juno chatted their way through the kitchen door, Peter talking animatedly about some kind of cryptid and Juno snarking him right back.

“Juno, it’s fascinating! In Puerto Rico, they found a mysterious creature washed up on the beach, and no one can figure out what it is! A Chupacabra it’s called apparently, it means ‘goat-eater’.”

Juno snorted and took the chair Peter pulled out for him, mumbling a thank you. “It’s probably some dog that just washed up on the beach Nureyev, nothin’ to get excited about,” Juno said. He poured a cup out for Peter, who smiled and took it.

Skyler’s laughed quietly. A Chupacabra, huh? That brought back memories. As Fog put eggs down on the table, ne recalled something that had happened the year before, also involving a Chupacabra and poisonous plants.

 

Skyler was going to Mexico to collect some cursed furniture from an acquaintance, and as a precaution Fog and Skyler had gone to gather hellebore for, of course, any wandering Chupacabras. Skyler had been paring it at the kitchen table when Juno walked in. Business had been slow for him in this era, and so he came over for lunch every once in a while. Fog was upstairs finding shears.

“The hell’s all this hellebore for?” he grouched, sitting at the table. “You guys know it’s poisonous, right?”

Skyler scoffed. “Well duh. I’m going south to get some cursed furniture, and I don’t feel like getting got by the Chupacabra.”

Juno rolled his eyes. “Skyler, there’s no such thing as-” Skyler’s head snapped up.

“Juno Steel you shut your fuckin’ mouth or I’m not letting Fog service your car for free anymore, got me?” ne snapped, pointing neir knife at Juno.

Juno blinked. “Yep alright! Alright.” Fog, who was listening on the stairs, shears in hand, started sweating. _Oh Saint Mary he’s in for it now_ , they thought.

Skyler didn’t see the Chupacabra that year, but made it a private vow to “prove Juno Steel the fuck wrong.”

 

“This is the year I nab a Chupacabra, and Peter,” ne said, pointing a fork at the man in question. “You’re going to help me.”

“Am I now? Well of course, I’d be delighted.”

“Wait, hang on,” Juno interrupted. “Nobody’s going on a twenty-one hour car trip to find something that we don’t even know _exists_ and trying to _catch_ it with poisonous _plants_.”

Skyler looked at him. “You’re right Juno.”

“Hey! I’m not- what now?”

“I’m not _just_ going to catch a cryptid,” Skyler continued. “Officially, I have a contact that, once again, did not learn his lesson and bought some more cursed furniture. ‘Parently this time it’s a table and some chairs,” ne said, sipping coffee and artfully avoiding Juno’s boiling glare.

Peter helped Fog clear the dishes, and leaned against the counter.

“Juno, how busy are you at the moment?”

“Too busy for this bull, that’s for sure.”

“But business-wise?”

“It’s been slow… Hang on, what are you up to Nureyev?” Juno began to get up, suspicion in his every move.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. I was just thinking, however,” he picked his words carefully, “that we could make it a trip and all go? That way,” he said, putting his hands on Juno’s shoulders and pushing him back down, “you’ll know exactly where to find me.”

Juno sat back down. And thought about it for so long that the table was cleared and new coffee was brewed. “Okay,” Juno conceded. Skyler whooped and threw suds all over Fog, who laughed and went to get a notepad.

“We gotta plan this one out, it’s gon’ be involved, probably.” Juno and Peter stayed on for lunch, planning an itinerary and drying out plants. A business week later, the crew was off to catch the Chupacabra and buy some cursed furniture.

—————————-

“Well, Juno,” said Peter, laying back on the couch in Juno’s apartment. “What did you think?”

“Well apart from the fact that I ran nearly a mile holding a goat at four in the morning as bait, I had fun.” Juno scooted himself beneath Peter’s legs.

“It was incredible, wasn’t it,” Peter chuckled. “I’d never seen a real Chupacabra before, it was fascinating.”

“Yeah, and now it’s stuffed in the window of the antique store. Why’d Skyler go and do that? Place is gonna look like a tourist trap in about five months.”

From the window they heard a muffled shout. “Because WHY THE FUCK NOT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I've said before, I have done incredible amounts of research to get everything both period and scientifically accurate, and it does take some time. I do not plan to meet the Chupacabra. Sorry for skipping an update! I just started college and family showed up last weekend so it was all kinds of bonkers. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	12. Cryptids of Hyperion: The Watcher (at the station)

Fog eased their head cautiously out of the dormer window, flashlight in hand and courage in the other. It was either extremely late at night or supremely early in the morning, depending who you asked. In any case, it was 2 o’clock in the morning. The sky was completely dark with clouds, promising rain soon. Fog had woken up to a loud thump overhead, and naturally had to investigate. Skyler had fallen asleep in neir workshop, and so lay dead to the world.

Fog first went up to the attic. When nothing out of the ordinary had jumped out at them, they clamped the light between their teeth, zipped up their coat, and went up to the roof. They climbed out of the window and onto the dormer and from there heaved themself up to the roof. Then, they choked on a shriek and slipped right off, dropping their only light.

A black hand attached to a wing shot out from the dark figure that lay perched on the Stone-Burns residence, grabbing Fog’s arm right as they slid off the edge. The flashlight tumbled off into the darkness, landing on the grass outside the station window. A second hand emerged from the black figure, taking hold of Fog’s other arm and gently pulling them back onto the roof.

The figure sat Fog, who was heaving and shaking from the shock of almost falling off the roof. Some things, even they couldn’t recover from. A winged hand gently patted them on the face until they managed to slow down, taking slow, deep breaths.

“Hey now, that wasn’t so bad, huh? There, there, yeah, good, deep breaths. Good? Good.” Fog, still breathing deep, raised a confused eyebrow. Even close up, for the life of them, they couldn’t make out who they were looking at; all they could see of the dark figure was wings.

“Thanks for, hhhhoo, savin’ me.” The figure reached out and ruffled their hair.

“That’s my job, puppy,” it said in a voice not too far off from smoke of burned rubber.

“C-may I ask a question?”

“Yep.”

“What are you doing on my roof?”

“Oh,” said the figure. “Don’t worry. I am just taking my ease and making sure that you and your home are safe. Paid off didn’t it? Saved you.” Fog nodded slowly, considering. Just as they opened their mouth to ask something, Skyler poked neir head over the edge of the roof and nearly fell right off the ladder ne climbed up on with a strangled shriek. With much effort and gasping, Skyler passed Fog neir rifle, hauled nemself over the edge and clung there, gazing in fascination and wariness at the figure.

“I have three questions exactly,” ne announced. “What’s going on, who’s this, and how come  _ you’re _ allowed on the roof Fog?” This last statement was pronounced with much indignation at Fog. Fog gestured weakly at the figure that had wrapped a wing around them.

“I heard a thump, so I came up to see. You were sleepin’ so I didn’ wanna bother you, I think it’s…” Fog looked at the creature, and it looked back as best it could. The creature gestured at Skyler, who’d hauled nemself to the roof.

“I’ll tell you what I told this kid. I’m just chilling and making sure that you and your home are safe.” Fog nodded. Skyler narrowed neir eyes but scooted next to Fog all the same, gently patting them on the arm.

“Next time,” ne said, “wake me up before you go investigating the paranormal.” Fog grinned and nodded.

“Thank you for saving me,” Fog said to the figure, continuing their conversation, now with the addition of Skyler’s hand in theirs. “But, I have a request and another question?”

“Shoot, I’ll be here all night.” 

Fog fiddled with Skyler’s hand and looked up. “You staying here for a while?”

“Yep.”

“Will you go find the house of Juno Steel and watch over him for us? He needs it more than we do.” The creature chuckled its smoked laugh.

“Naw, no need. Oh, how come? Firstly, Juno Steel’s a native. Small scale paranormal thingums don’t have any hold on him, can’t hurt him. Secondly, he’s got a, how d’you say, a presence of his own. Mighty unsettling, wards off the worst of what I protect you from.” Fog’s eyes widened and Skyler pulled neir rifle to neir lap.

“We’re in danger? What from?” It pat Fog’s face and Skyler’s hair.

“Not too much. Ghosts, spirits, that kind of thing.” Fog hummed. Skyler made a mental note to exorcise the house later.

“Thirdly,” continued the creature. “He’s got that fellow, from New Orleans.”

“Peter?” cried the two in unison.

“Him with the chunky frames, yes? Yes. Word is he killed a vamp, and those’re real hard to get, so everything’s afraid of him. Plus, he’s got a Laveau charm. The Queen,” it explained at Skyler’s look of askance. “Frames is under her protection, and so’s Steel by proxy.”

Fog snickered. “You beasts call ‘im Chunky Frames?” The creature chuckled in turn and Skyler smirked. “He’s gon’ hate it when we tell ‘im. We call ‘im Sneaky Pete ourselves. Hates it, nobody c’n get away with it. Skyler?” they wondered, watching Skyler gnaw on one knuckle.

“Now I’m curious,” ne said, relinquishing the hand to Fog’s grasp. “What did Peter Nureyev do exactly, that nothing here hurts him?

The dark winged figure made sound not unlike breaking wood. “Not my knowing, not my problem. I only know its effects. You go ask him, tomorrow, in the morning. Now go,” it said, pulling its wing back from around Fog and nudging them to the window. “And don’t worry. I’ll be here, making sure you’re safe. It’s going to rain, get with it!” The creature shook its wings at them, and Skyler and Fog slid down the ladder as the first drops of rain fell.

The two sat at the kitchen table, rescued flashlight between them.

“Do you think we’ll find out what happened to Peter?”

“No. At least,  _ we _ won’t. If anyone ever manages to get that out of him, it’ll be Juno Steel, sure as anything.”

“Wait and see?”

“Wait and see. Good night, Fog.”

“G’night, Skyler.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dad helped cement the term Chunky Frames at great personal cost to the both of us! Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	13. Cryptids of Hyperion: The Watcher (at the agency)

Juno Steel woke with a start. Something big had thumped onto the roof. Peter shifted, woken by Juno.

“Juno?” he mumbled, sleepily tightening an arm around Juno’s waist. “What is it?”

Juno sat up, in turn displacing Peter who sat up too, now mildly disgruntled. “I don’t know, I heard a thump- yeah, that’s it,” said Juno as another thump went through the ceiling. Fully awake now, Peter reached over to the bedside table and put his glasses on. He looked up to the ceiling, and it thumped again.

Juno frowned. “I’m gonna go see what it is, better not be some damned raccoon or whatever,” grumbled Juno. He swung himself off the edge of the bed and put some clothes on. Peter rubbed his face and put his own clothes on, slipping knives up his sleeves. Juno stopped.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting… clothes on, is that not obvious?”

“No, no that’s not what I mean. You’re not coming with me are you?”

“I most assuredly am, detective. A gentleman such as myself would never let a lady venture out by his lonesome into the deep, dark sky, would he?” Juno turned away, the darkness of the room hiding his blush. Peter quirked a smile anyway. “And besides, you promised.” Checking his gun was loaded, Juno sighed.

“Yeah, I guess I did. Well, okay. Only way to the roof’s the fire escape, let’s go.” Juno first, the men made their way up Juno’s creaky and frankly, not-to-code fire escape.

Peter Nureyev was not the kind of person to be shocked. Surprised maybe, but never shocked. So he was incredibly shaken when Juno, as soon as he poked his head above the edge of the roof, screamed.

“Juno! Are you alright?” cried Peter, rushing to Juno’s side when he thudded to the steps, gently loosening the escape from the wall. Juno gasped a little and shook his head.

“Nureyev, something, something big’s up there, it-” Juno stilled. He couldn’t see it, facing Peter as he was, but he could feel it, a huge, looming presence. It could probably kill him in less than a breath. The look on Peter’s face said as much: his eyes widened, the grip on Juno’s arm tightened, and a knife appeared in his hand. The dark figure took the initiative, stretching a large wing out to the side.

“Don’t worry,” it said, in a peculiar voice that sounded like… burned rubber smoke. Interesting. Peter didn’t lower his weapon, still wary, now pressing Juno to himself in the other arm. Juno had pulled out his revolver and had it aimed at the the figure.

The figure shook its wings out. “Don’t worry, I said. I’m a friend of Fog Burns.”

Juno scoffed. “Everybody knows Fog, better try again,” he said, finger on the trigger.

The creature shuffled and considered. It didn’t have a discernible head, but you could almost see the light bulb go off in it.

“You don’t believe me, so I’ll give you proof of knowing,” it said. Juno’s grip on his gun tightened. Peter’s grip on him tightened the same amount. “They told me, the little wordsmith and their friend of the archives, that they call you,” it gestured a wing in to Peter. “Sneaky Pete.”

A moment passed, then Juno laughed and lowered his gun, still wary but less so. Peter’s grip on Juno loosened, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sneaky Pete?” repeated Juno incredulously. Leave it to the station fool to come up with that one.

“Those two, honestly,” Peter muttered under his breath. “First thing in the morning, I swear…” Juno laughed again and put an arm around Peter’s waist.

“Hey, if those goofballs didn’t say stupid things, we would of had a shootout with this here bird. What the hell are you doing on my roof anyway, thumping around all over the place?” asked Juno to the figure looking down from the edge of the roof. For all he looked, though, Juno couldn’t make out anything other than wings on the thing.

“Not much, truthly. I am just unwinding and ensuring that you and your home are safe. As if you need it, of all people,” it continued. Juno frowned.

“Safe? From what? And the hell do you mean,  _ me _ of all people?”

“Oh. Things, the local things. Ghosts and heebie-jeebies, those. You are special, Juno Steel, in that you have much the same presence I do. It unsettles things, makes spirits and sprites not stick to your residence.”

“So basically you’re saying I’m ghost repellent.”

“Yes.” Peter almost looked disappointed. “But only for the small things,” it continued. “Now, I must be off.” And as abruptly as it had appeared, the dark winged figure took off, leaving Juno and Peter sitting dumbfounded on the rickety fire escape.

“You learn something new every day,” Peter observed.

“Yeah, it’s never boring, that’s for sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The anatomy of a house, I learned it! Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	14. Moss

Juno, Peter and Skyler were sat outside the garage enjoying the rare sunshine. Fog -- who, in an unexpected turn of events, finally had someone from town need repairs -- was underneath a car, repairing. Juno’s head was leaned back over the edge of his lawn chair, eyes closed. Skyler was reading the paper. Peter took a deep breath, and prepared to ask a question that had been burning his tongue for a week now.

“Skyler?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I… don’t mean to be rude…” Fog scooted a little out from under the car. “But… have you showered, recently?” Skyler’s eyes widened over neir newspaper and Juno raised his head in surprise. Fog banged their head against the underside of the car. 

“Peter!” they cried. “You can’t say that!” Peter shut his eyes and shook his head while Juno cackled.

“No, no, I don’t mean it that way! You don’t smell  _ bad _ ! I mean that you just smell… damp?” Juno moved on from cackling to coughing. Fog flew out from under the car, sat up and howled laughing. Skyler chuckled and shut their newspaper.

“Aw Peter, why didn’t you ask that in the first place? I was ready to pop you one.” Ne folded neir newspaper over and put it on the ground. “I lived on a lake for give or take ten years, so naturally, I smelled like lake water. Hyperion weirdness kept the smell of it stuck to me, no matter how much cologne I wear or how much soap I use.”

Juno heaved, wiping tears from his eyes. “You sure do know how to ask things with style, Nureyev.”

Peter sputtered. “I was curious!”

“Listen,” Juno said, reaching over and patting Peter’s thigh. “If something ever strikes you as ‘weird’, that’s just what Hyperion does to things. Nothing escapes it. In about three months,” he gave it a final pat. “You’re gonna be just as weird as the rest of us.”

“Don’t worry Nureyev!” piped Fog, back under the car. “Nothing weird’s gonna happen to ya like what happened to Skyler. Ya won’t end up smelling like fish or nothin’, bet a dollar on it.” Skyler walked over and kicked Fog in the ankles. Fog kicked back.

“Does this phenomenon happen to  _ everyone _ ?” Peter inquired, oblivious to Juno’s frantic signs to desist.

“Oh Lord, does it!” exclaimed Skyler. “Fog and Juno would know better though, you tell ‘im.”

Fog scooted out, leaned against Peter’s legs and began counting off on their fingers. “Firstly’s Skyler. Got that one, fella smells like moss always. Bathtub ends up smelling like moss too, so I gave up buying nice shampoo. Mose, well, first all that fella ain’t human, so.”

“He’s not… human?” Peter faltered. Fog looked up in disbelief and Skyler cried out “Of course not! Have you ever seen him! Of course not!”

“You haven’t met his cousin Methuselah I suspec’, huh?” pondered Fog. “Well. Man rides a horse that walks two feet up’n air and has horns. As for Mose, you’re gon’ hafta wait for Halloween to see the fella in action.”

“Is all this true?” Peter asked Juno skeptically. Juno looked at him grimly.

“Yeah. I met Methuselah. It’s all real.” Every word sounded like it had to be yanked right out of Juno’s mouth, the reluctance with which it was spoken. Peter blinked. Fog pat his knee and resumed counting. Skyler got up and went into the house.

“Valles Vicky, she never runs out of anything. Never. I took all her milk bottles and Skyler went up to the front to ask for some and sure as fire, a glass of milk! Sasha Wire, invisible. She gets the paper out every damn day, but I looked in her office once, and she wasn’t there. The building’s small! And I haven’t seen her since the summer barbecue! It’s incredible.” Juno nodded in agreement. Skyler came out of the house with apple juice and passed cartons around.

“Chance and Mary-Anne, they can make anything. Anything. You want a fish wedding cake, it can and has been done.” Skyler choked on neir juice and looked at Fog in alarm.

“When was this?”

“Oh, the winter you left for Arizona. The mailman,” they explained, “wanted a cake made from the fish he caught for his fifteen year anniversary. Juno, were you there?”

Juno shook his head. “Nah, I was up in Forks. Had a case.”

“‘Splains why I had so much groceries. Okay,” Fog continued. “Mick Mercury. You all know how it rains, yea, and it floods the street. Wet to the knees, it’s the sea in the doorway. Well get this. Mick’s place never floods. Never! It never gets wet in there! Folks walk in drippin’ like soups and the floor of his store stays dry! Bafflin’.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yea Juno! I dumped a bootful of water in the dried good aisle once and nothin’! Not a single drop on that floor! I ‘bout lost it.” Peter was deep in thought, and Juno put his head back over the seat.

“Dammit, Mick,” he muttered. “What the hell, dry floors…”

“Rita ranks up there too, in weirdness,” Fog forged on. “There’s a lot goin’ on with her. Shoot, she’s basically my informant! I don’t really get out to the diner much, we got food at home, but nigh ev’rybody else does, so Rita tells me who’s doing what and when and how’s happening, whenever folks don’t come over to me and chat. That girl can get into basically anything, cash registers to people to cars.”

“Good ol’ Rita,” Skyler commented.

“And lastly, well, Juno I s’pose!” Juno put his head back up. Peter glanced over at Juno.

“I’m not as weird as you all,” he grumbled. Skyler laughed and opened neir paper back up. Fog looked up at Peter. “Yea, Juno. Juno’s up there with me in how much Hyperion got us. Him more’n me, actually.” Fog took a deep breath. “See, Juno’s got this thing where he never, ever gets lost. Ever. Not in Hyperion anyway.”

“That’s not Hyperion weirdness, I was a ranger. I have to know where I’m going,” grumbled Juno. Fog clicked their tongue.

“Hell yea it’s Hyperion weirdness! Skyler, tell this story, please.” Skyler folded their paper and mumbled “I am not going to finish this thing today.” Ne leaned back, and took a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s see, this was a long time ago. A while, while back. Fog, idiot they were, decided it would be a good idea to explore the woods. Alone. Fog’s from the desert, too, no such thing as a tree, so they didn’t know what the fuck they were doing. Left about ten in the morning, saying they’d be about an hour? And at noon I called the local ranger force.” Fog folded their knees to their chin.

“Mmm, I about tore my hair out and I was walking back and forth from Juno’s place back to the garage and I didn’t know him too good back then? So he stuck his head out the window and yelled at me to stop, what the hell was I doing. And, well, it was about four in the afternoon, my best friend was missing, the rangers had been searching for hours with no news, no one was home, so I started crying in the street! And Juno came down and sat me in his doorway, told me to take deep breaths and explain what’s up. So I told him.

“He said to me, distraught as I was and in the pits of despair, “Give me an hour, I’ll be right back” and off he went, car, coat and gun, leaving me in his open doorway. Nice move. Naturally, being exhausted from crying all the damn day and having forgotten to eat lunch, I fell asleep. I woke up to a running engine and there he was, Juno Steel, blood all up one sleeve and Fog Burns in tow, bruised and battered.” Skyler sat back. “Just at that moment, the clouds broke and the sun was lower, and I swear to you all I thought I saw the Savior himself. What the entire ranger force couldn’t do in five hours, Juno did in one.” Skyler exhaled. “So that’s Juno’s weirdness in a word or so. And also why we feed him all the time.”

“And also why I fix his car for free!” piped Fog. Juno turned his face and grumbled, “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep our only mechanic from being dead.”

Peter, to whom Juno’d turned his face to, smiled. “Saving lost children in the woods, truly a hero among mortals,” Peter noted, amused. Juno turned the other direction, flustered.

“Alright, whatever, Skyler, talk about Fog, Fog’s weird.”

Skyler burst out laughing. “How’s Fog  _ not _ weird, Juno?” ne gasped. “Kid says the strangest things at the strangest moments and never get frustrated, ever. Rolls with all the punches. Oh, actually,” Skyler realized, “Fog can talk down ghosts.”

Peter leaned forward, interested. “Say again?”

“Fog can talk down ghosts. The reason we have so little hauntings in the house despite it being an old bandit hideout is ‘cause Fog can talk to ghosts and get them to leave, just like that. Hasn’t failed us yet!”

“Demons are trickier,” Fog chimed in. “Ain’t human, can’t do what I do with those beasts.”

“So, Fog,” Peter concluded, “is an exorcist.”

“Somethin’ like it, anyway,” Fog sighed. “Long standing tradition in the family.”

The sun began to set; Juno and Peter got up to leave, waving goodbye to Fog and Skyler who folded up the chairs and went in the house. On their own way home, Peter took Juno’s elbow.

“What’s up?”

“This is a strange town, Juno,” Peter mused.

“You noticed this now?”

“No, I’m appreciating it now.”

“Oh. Well, if it means anything to you, you’re just as strange, Nureyev.”

Peter chuckled. “Thank you, detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The folks of Hyperion are pretty strange people, through little fault of their own. The thing with Fog being lost is a divergence off what happened to my sister in circumstance and space. It worked out okay for my sister, but I personally got hit in the head. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	15. Damage Committee

The town of Hyperion, Washington had a population of about one thousand people. The greatest rivalry it had was between the local baseball team (the Hyperion Hell-Raisers) and Oldtown’s baseball team (the Oldtown Ospreys). Much banter was passed between the two; on Hyperion’s end, what kind of name was ‘Old’town? On Oldtown’s end, why was everything in the town haunted? It was a mostly friendly rivalry save for the occasional scraps. Except when it came to football.

Hyperion had the most decent bar in the county, so naturally, everybody showed up there to watch big games. That meant that unsavory types showed up too, mostly from Oldtown. It wouldn’t have been too bad if the “hicks from upcountry” stayed civil in their intoxication, but everybody who came down from Oldtown thought it’d be a good idea to wreak havoc in Hyperion as a gift for being able to drink good scotch.

As a countermeasure, the town of Hyperion had set up a Damage Committee to, one, assess damages, and two, to return the favor. Most towns frowned upon fighting fire with fire and preferred to fine the culprits and send them on their way; less paperwork. That mode of operation, however, kept the criminals coming back as unrepentant and unburdened by conscience as wasps. Hyperion, though, disliked its police force, and had been at the onset a frontier town; matters were settled through fairly fought fights, and no one could complain.

The Damage Committee proper consisted of the most capable folks in Hyperion: the Mailman (who had a football magazine subscription courtesy of the post office, therefore predicting when a scrap was likely incoming), Sam of the Hills (who cared for many a large dog), Valles Vicky (who had personal stakes in the claim), Juno Steel (who enjoyed a good brawl when he could get one), Fog Burns (who lay low sabotaging cars and providing first aid), and Skyler Stone (who used scraps as an excuse to use a slingshot and look cool). Of course, this was not a solid and permanent order; anyone who had the capacity to liked to brawl when the hicks came down in force. This was just the core of the Committee mandated by the Community Board. Once, the whole town had joined in during the Superbowl; Miss Ida had memorably broken a chair over someone’s head and that someone had left the state for New Hampshire.

Fog Burns had a pair of overalls dedicated to brawls; it was covered in old blood stains and mostly brown, especially around the bib. Most of the blood was not theirs, this kind of thing just happened when you were the only person doing first aid. What they liked to do with Sam of the Hills was key the hicks’ cars to hell and back, perhaps break a window or so. To run a bar with drinks of the quality she kept, Valles Vicky skimped on the quality of her dishes; her bar was full of cheap glass. Quite useful to break over someone’s head with minimal financial loss. Old Man Mose always kept the pharmacy open late on football nights.

Newcomers rarely stayed long enough to learn about this Hyperion tradition, so nobody thought to tell Peter Nureyev, who was extremely alarmed when he saw Juno bandage his hands in the way a professional boxer might (he did box in his youth, to be sure) after Fog declared it a “football night” on the late night PSA they sometimes did.

“Juno? What are you doing?”

“This? Oh, that’s right, you don’t know about the friday night fights.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, Hyperion has a “Danger Committee”. When the bastards who come down to Valles Vicky’s for football games get too rowdy, the gang gets up and brawls. Fog and Skyler are part of it.”

“And you all just… fight?”

“That’s about all of it, yeah. Hey, wanna join? Free drinks after, and you get a fight.”

“I’m not as bloodthirsty as some people, Juno. Not quite my idea of a Friday night.”

“Did I mention the free drinks.”

Peter failed spectacularly at keeping a smile from creeping onto his face. He’d been wondering when he’d be asked as soon as Juno had said “Damage Committee” with such disdain. Clearly, he had not chosen the name. Peter got up to put something more appropriate for this kind of evening on. Well, naturally, the man had put together an ensemble of the darkest colors he owned. No use getting blood on his good shirts, after all. He found his gloves just as someone rapped on the door.

“Juuunoooo, you ready?” hollered Fog from the other side of the door. “C’mon, sun’s goin’ down!”

“Give me a second Fog, hang on! Geez, that kid,” Juno grumbled at the door as he smoothed Peter’s lapels. He rested his hands on Peter’s chest, and Peter covered Juno’s hands with his.

“We had better get going, lest Skyler start knocking too.”

“Yeah, fine.”

Juno swung the door open, missing Fog’s nose by half an inch, Fog grinning brightly the whole while.

“You ready? Is Peter coming? Yea! Skyler you owe me a buck thirty, let’s go!” and Fog swung around, back down the stairs they’d come up. Skyler looked down the staircase, then back up at Juno, who took a deep breath and heaved a great sigh. Juno walked past Skyler down the stairs, Skyler bringing up the rear.

Juno drove them all to Valles Vicky’s, Peter talking the whole while about the merits of sawbacks versus karambits, Juno interjecting every once in a while with his general opinions on knives. He parked some ways past the bar, out by the pharmacy — no sense getting his car keyed too, jalopy that is was — where they were greeted by Old Man Mose, sitting on his stoop.

“Weeeelll,” drawled Mose, “if it ain’t Jeeeyyuno Stil aaand… his gaing o’ riffraff! Well I’ll be damned.” And Mose began cackling and wheezing, shaking his head and slapping his knee for no discernible reason, at least to Juno, Peter and Skyler. Fog, who was apparently in on it, rolled their eyes and smiled wryly, a first for Peter. Fog leaned against the doorway Mose was having a fit upon, slapping it and cackling still.

“You all go on ahead,” said Fog, motioning them away. “Dontch’all miss that fight, it’s Peter’s first one. I gotta get some supplies, have a chat, and be right with you. If you should ever need me,” they remembered, snapping their fingers in Peter’s direction, “I’ll be in Vicky’s restroom, doin’ first aid. If’n I’m not there, I’m keyin’ cars. My stuff’ll be in the last stall, on top of th’toilet paper dispenser, shouldja get hurt that bad. Now take care o’ yerself and go have fun!” Fog waved at the departing three; Skyler walked backwards and waved back, Juno’s hand on neir shoulder. “Mysterious Mose, I do declare,” huffed Fog Burns. Mose wiped his face on his sleeve and put a knowing smile back on.

“Lemme getchou them bandages.”

 

Night had just set in, bringing with it the general buzz of excitement and anticipation at Valles Vicky’s bar. It was, for now, the usual scene: people scattered every which way, eyes on the television or their drinks. Juno scanned the crowd, making eye contact with certain folks  and receiving a nod or a raised eyebrow acknowledgment (as Skyler said) in return. He made his way to the bar, Peter and Skyler in tow, and rapped the counter. Valles Vicky, on the other end and side of the bar, sauntered her way over.

“If it ain’t Juno Steel! And Skyler. And… oh well hey, you must be the fella Fog gushed about for two days straight, that Mister Mystery! The fella Steel’s head over heels for. What’d you say your name was again?” Juno focused his attention on a stain in the wood and Skyler laughed on neir stool. Peter chuckled.

“Peter Nureyev, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise. So here’s the deal.” The three at the counter leaned in. “We got some more’n usual comin’ in tonight and Fog said they look more soused ’n usual, almost drove right into each other like clamheads.”

“Fog said?” inquired Peter.

“Yeah, the kid does reconnaissance for me so I can get a headcount, got a walkie-talkie under the counter. Sticks out by Mose’s place cuz that’s the only way in from Oldtown not countin’ the back roads.” Her eyes roved to the door. “Here they come.”

The front door of the establishment banged on its hinges, spewing within the building a plague of very soused and disdainfully dressed degenerates, making a ruckus and running into folks and furniture. Said degenerates began trying their hardest to get people to fight them.

Valles Vicky, a dame of habit, poured out a shot of whiskey and put it down in front of Juno, another dame of habit. Juno threw it back and stood up from the bar. He took off his coat and gave it to Valles Vicky, who stuck it under the bar. Juno rolled up his sleeves, motioned to Peter to follow him, and walked up one of the Oldtown degens. The man barely finished saying “What’re you lookin’ at?” when Juno socked him a right hook and dropped him.

“Welcome to Hyperion,” yelled Juno, and Valles Vicky’s bar exploded.

On a good day, Valles Vicky’s bar was a place for people to get rowdy at on friday evenings or to wind down at during the week. On a bad day such as this, it was the equivalent of standing in the lobster store during a hurricane. Chairs flew, tables flew, glasses were slung from behind the bar. Juno and Peter were back to back, dodging punches and dishing some right back. The sexiest tag team ever, thought Skyler as they ran around, kicking people’s legs out from under them. Valles Vicky, ever the business woman, had put all her liquor beneath the counter, and was having the time of her life cracking skulls. The mailman (whose name was Conrad Billingsley) was just slugging people left and right, fists smoking. Like Blackbeard, he kept lit cigarettes between his fingers. Sam of the Hills, who didn’t enjoy violence at the best of times, was out in the back lot behind the bar, keying cars and biting holes in tires. Fog Burns was usually out there with him, providing moral support and scratching up windows, yet oddly enough, they were not. Likely treating someone in the bathroom, thought Sam of the Hills, swishing his mouth out with Crème de Menthe.

Juno, at the best of bar fights, felt exhilarated. Now with Peter behind him, giving the best he had in the most elegant of ways, Juno’s heart was fit to bursting. It wasn’t every day the love of your life brawled back to back with you in a bar full of glass and drunken frat boys.

The fight was over in about ten minutes: things don’t usually last long when a good number of Hyperion locals plus the Community Board mandated Damage Committee get together against Oldtown soakers. Juno put down his hands, the bandages wrapped around them red in the knuckles. He looked back at Peter, who was hardly winded and smiled broadly at him when he caught Juno’s eye.

“Well, detective, not quite my idea of a Friday night, but quite bracing nonetheless!”

“Had fun?” panted Juno, just a little bit.

“Absolutely,” said Peter, catching Juno by the neck and kissing him. Valles Vicky, now back behind the bar, hollered to the mailman to “get outta the way of the show” and “free drinks on me!” Just then, someone by the TV shouted “the Lions won!” and the bar once more erupted. Since all of Valles Vicky’s glasses had been thrown and subsequently shattered, she dished up peanuts, beer and whiskey in bowls, jars, and saucers. Peter, one arm slung around Juno, received a shot of Jack Daniels in an egg cup and Juno got an inch of the same in a jam jar. Drunk already on elation, Peter smooched Juno firmly on the cheek and threw back his shot. Juno laughed and followed suit. Skyler, making virgin piña coladas behind the bar, raised neir eyebrows in surprise. How about that, ne thought, followed by Where’s Fog? Ne rapped neir knuckles on the counter as Peter put down his egg cup.

“Either of you seen Fog? I haven’t seen them the whole night, where are they?” ne asked, increasingly nervous. The restroom door banged open then, releasing Fog Burns with red tissues stuffed up their nose and their whole face covered in blood, some fresh on their overalls. Juno leaned past Peter and widened his eyes as they trotted their way to the bar and sat next to Peter.

“ _ Fog? _ ” inquired Skyler in alarm. Fog held up their hands.

“I’m gonna need some milk first.” Valles Vicky scoffed, went to the mini fridge and poured them a small flower vase. “‘Preciate it. Here’s what happened: nobody needed help for a little bit so I figured I’d go out and key some cars. Soon as I stuck my head out the door I got a glass bottle full speed at the nose. It ain’t broken. Then b’fore I could stick my head back in some screamin’ maniac with a busted beer bottle came chargin’ in the side door, scrapin’ his bottle on the wall. And the restroom door was open. And I got a beer bottle to the face. Lucky I ducked or my eyes woulda got it!”

“You better wash your face or that blood’s gonna itch like hell,” added Juno, motioning with his jam jar.

“Ah, later,” waved Fog. “Cheers!” and they clinked their vase of milk with Juno’s jam jar of whiskey.

“Jeff.”

“Arnold.”

“Yo we saw the scariest fucking people in Hyperion last night. Y’know that one thing Mr. Barnes was talking about yesterday?”

“What, the weasel or whatever?”

“Yeah, that. Mongoose, Gef, whatever. We saw Gef slinging shot glasses from across the room and Cory swears he heard some banshee or whatever screaming and covered in blood like what the fuck man? And some guy, I dunno he was short like five seven or whatever and he fucking dropped Big Mike!”

“ _ No _ .”

“Hell yeah! Like it was nothing with a single fucking right hook can you believe it? Not to mention this, I dunno I was pretty out of it, this really fast shadow with glasses and shit. Jeff, we shouldn’t go back to Hyperion, lets go somewhere else next time. I got three headaches and no babes it’s just not worth it.”

“I’ll bet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally have never stepped foot in a bar, and also I don't leave the house. The milk comes from the time my dad went in a bar with his bud and slammed a hand on the counter hollering, in french, "Bartender! Milk!" and the bar laughed at him. A real personality. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	16. General Store Junction

Fog Burns yawned vapor up into the cold air and burrowed deeper into their bubble jacket. The month was November, the time was 7am on a Wednesday morning, and Fog Burns stood leaning against the wall of the general store in their pajamas, waiting for it to open.

Fog Burns, early riser though they were, did not have the habit of leaving the house before they had done their show. This time, however, was an emergency. They’d opened the fridge to discover that there was no more milk and no more tomatoes, and a hunt through the pantry uncovered no detergent whatsoever. So Fog Burns, in their nightgown and espadrilles, put on a jacket and drove to the general store in the ‘crisp’ (a large understatement) Washington morning air.

“Hey Fog! Never seen you here this early, what’s the emergency?”

“Hi, Mick. We’re fresh outta milk, tomatoes and detergent down by the station. Believe it or not, I think I do more washing than anybody else in town.”

“Oh, I’ll believe it. Come on in!” Mick Mercury unlocked the front door and went to open the blinds. Fog trotted in behind him, rubbing their hands together.

“So you came in the jeep? How come you didn’t stay inside, stay warm?” wondered Mick, opening the register. The general store opened early, on account of the hunters and fishers who liked to get an early start and get last-minute supplies. Sure enough, in came the mailman, who greeted Mick and Fog and got waves in return.

“Well for starters, turning on the heat’s a waste of gas when I got this jacket on me. Secondly, the thing ain’t got no doors, so it woulda been a waste of hot air,” said Fog, looking at the very last tomatoes in the store.

Mick nodded. “Good point, good point. Maybe I should do that instead of keeping the windows open.” Fog looked up at him from the tomatoes, worry slapped onto their face. Mick waved it away. “Don’t worry, just jokin’.” Fog raised worried brows all the same. They put down three tomatoes, a gallon of milk and a thing of detergent on the counter. Mick told them the price and put the things in a paper bag. Fog gave him the money, scooped up their purchases, and got wrangled into conversation by the mailman.

 

Skyler Stone woke up at the late hour of a quarter to nine with a craving for crepes. Ne stayed awake fairly late on a regular basis, so it wasn’t unusual for nem to wake up well after the sun rose and be late with opening the antique store (which opened at 9am officially, but hardly anyone noticed). Skyler put on some clothes and went downstairs only to discover the lack of milk. Ne hollered; Fog was not here. Odd, but not out of the ordinary. The car wasn’t in the garage either. Also odd, but still out of the ordinary. So Skyler did the only thing available to nem; ne took a stroll to the general store to get milk.

It being a crispy November morning, Skyler decided to avoid Main Street and take the scenic routes to the general store, thoroughly enjoying that Pacific Northwestern air. All the while, Skyler wondered where in the world was Fog Burns, out of the house before their show.

 

Fog parked the car in the garage and dashed back into the house, flung the groceries onto the kitchen table, hollered “Skyler I’m home!” and threw themselves into the chair in their studio, flipped the switch on everything that needed to be turned on and grabbed their notepad.

“Goooood morning Hyperion! You’re listening to Hyperion Fog, ten twenny on the radio dial! Sorry about the late start listeners,” apologized Fog, gasping, “I got waylaid at the general store because someone wouldn’t stop talking about fishing rods so Conrad Billingsley, watch out. I know you’re listening. So. Here’s what happened. I woke up, went down to make breakfast, and discovered we ran out of the three basic necessities, milk, tomatoes, and detergent…”

Skyler, leaning against the counter at the general store and listening to the radio, widened neir eyes and looked at the gallon of milk ne’d just bought. Conrad Billingsley, the mailman, roared with laughter. Mick shrugged apologetically. No refunds. That’s just how it is sometimes, thought Skyler, leaving the general store and waving at Mick and the mailman. Ne’d have to start leaving sticky notes on the counter so they wouldn’t have so much damn milk in the future.

 

“‘Mornin’ Juno!” chirped Fog. “Didja listen to my show?”

“‘Course I did, Nureyev turns the radio on every morning. Can’t get away from it. Let me guess, the milk’s for me because you two suckers bought too much.” Fog raised the gallon of milk in response. Juno took it, not one to pass up free groceries. Fog waved at Peter behind him and scuttled back down the stairs to their garage where, for once, a car was waiting. Juno shut the door and shook his head. Peter chuckled from the living room.

“It’s not everyday you get free groceries.”

“Maybe not where you come from, but here in Hyperion, it’s a weekly thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers to whoever finds the picture I based this whole entire story on! That is, if anyone reads this at all! Likely not! Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	17. Revolutionary Bigfoot Theory

“Nureyev, how come nobody’s ever gotten a good picture of Bigfoot?” Fog looked up from their banjo tuning, waiting for an answer. The “members of the station” (as Fog called them all) were sitting in lawn chairs in front of the garage, not doing particularly much. Juno looked up from his newspaper with suspicion. Skyler woke up. Peter thought on this.

“Well, let’s see. It’s very difficult to catch things in motion without the photo blurring, even with a good camera. And considering Bigfoot is reportedly 7 feet tall, it’s safe to say that it can run at a fairly good pace. Not to mention the camouflage.”

Juno snorted. “First of all, Bigfoot isn’t real. So there’s your reason why nobody can get it on camera.” Peter sent him a withering glance. Skyler raised neir glasses back up neir nose where they had slipped in neir nap.

“Juno, you were a park ranger. Here. In the Pacific Northwest. And we all know that there’re cryptids in these woods. Everybody knows it, even the kids. Especially the kids. And I also know you’ve seen Bigfoot,” Skyler grinned.

“You have?” Peter sputtered. “And yet you didn’t tell me?”

Juno rolled his eyes. “First of all, my job wasn’t to hunt for cryptids, I just happened to see them sometimes. I was a ranger for crying out loud. Second of all, how do you know I saw Bigfoot?”

“I don’t,” replied Skyler slyly, “but you just proved it to me.” Juno threw his hands up in the air. “And,” ne continued, “Sam from the Hills brought you over one time on a drunken bender because he couldn’t find your keys and you kept saying you’d ‘seen the Bigfoot’, supposedly.”

“You’re very heavy when you’re drunk, Juno,” added Fog, putting the strap over their head.

“Oh, was that it? I woke up on your couch with a splitting headache, first time I saw the inside of your place.”

“Oh Lord, it sure was,” laughed Fog, strumming a chord. “You didn’t puke, so thank heaven for small mercies.” Peter reached over and put a hand on the strings to stop them. Fog looked at him, affronted.

“Juno, don’t change the subject,” said Peter. “You’ve seen Bigfoot before? And you didn’t bother taking a picture.” Juno glanced at Skyler, who glanced right back. Fog, who had unsuccessfully tried to get Peter’s hands off their banjo, folded their own over his in defeat. Juno rolled his eyes.

“Okay, you know what? Here’s the reason nobody’s ever caught Bigfoot on camera: he’s flat. They’ve never caught him on camera because he turns ninety degrees and becomes too thin to see,” Juno said smugly, crossing his arms. Fog and Skyler screamed in laughter. Peter sat up and looked Juno right in the eye, giving him a look to shatter the earth.

“Juno Steel? I want a divorce.”

The Methodists across town wondered why the shrieking was so loud that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the part of the Blackland Prairie where I live specifically, we don't see Bigfoots. We got lake monsters and haunted birds. What I do have is a banjo, so that part is factual. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	18. Cryptids of Hyperion: Foot Moss

When you live in a town with one general store at the edges of a National Forest, having a car becomes a necessity; even more of a necessity is having a car that works right when a seven-foot beast is at your tail. That was why Fog Burns, local mechanic and radio host, was one of the more valued members of the Hyperion township. It was thanks to them that the general store’s original owner was still living, as well as the private eye, the man from New Orleans, and Rita.

For a town where the number of engines equaled the number of folks above the age of sixteen, the garage spent a lot of time empty except for the station truck and cruiser, and Fog had plenty of downtime - except when hunting season opened. For the better part of August and the beginning of September, Fog Burns had been doing nothing but repairing and tuning cars in the mad rush of hunting season prep. They had even had to neglect their show, and in that time of late August, the town of Hyperion heard nothing from Fog Burns themself, but plenty from what Fog called “the Late Summer Segment” featuring Skyler Stone, Juno Steel, Peter Nureyev, and Rita, whenever she was in the area.

After a near month of solid work, the rush of car repairs and tune-ups was over. Fog Burns finally had a moment of peace, and used it to sit in the open bed of their truck in the garage, taking a moment to breath and clean their tools. They had gotten through four screwdrivers when they heard the sound of squishing. Fog looked up, then looked to the sky. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another; Skyler Stone walked up to the garage, shoes covered entirely in moss.

“Aw Skyler, what  _ now _ ?” they sighed. “Alright, I’ll bite. What the heck did you walk through for that to happen?” Fog asked, leaning their elbows on their knees.

“What do you mean? I was walking in the woods and they just, grew onto my feet!” Skyler laughed, lifting a mossy shoe for Fog’s better observation. Fog, who had been elbows deep in car grease for the better part of late summer, gave nem a look. “It was some sort of cryptid, probably.”

Fog leaned back. “Like what, gnomes?”

“No, Foot Moss.” At Fog’s incomprehension, Skyler elaborated. “You know, the classic Washington cryptid.”

Fog narrowed their eyes. “That’s a disease.”

“No, it’s a cryptid.”

“I feel like that’s an excuse for catching something while walking through wetlands barefoot.” Fog picked their rag back up. Skyler was quiet for a long while.

“No, it’s Foot Moss,” ne insisted quietly, “the classic Washingtonian cryptid.” Fog jumped out of the truck and handed the rag to Skyler.

“Stay here, clean my tools for me, I’ll be right back with something to get this ‘Foot Moss’ off you.”

 

“Hey Peter, you alright? Got any tea tree oil?”

Peter Nureyev, who had been doing research on UFO sighting hotspots, looked up from his notes to find Fog Burns, in their greasy and frankly disgusting work overalls, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

“I believe I am and I believe I do, why?”

“Because sometimes I worry about you and Skyler’s caught a Foot Moss.”

“Well thank you, and is that a-”

“No, this time, it’s really just Foot Moss,” avowed Fog. Juno Steel, just back from his office, kissed Peter on the cheek, got a kiss and a “hello darling” in return and scoffed at Fog.

“What did that kid do, walk through wetlands barefoot?”

“Looks like it I-”

“IT’S A CRYPTID FOG I SWEAR!” Bursting in to the great shock of everyone present was Skyler Stone, moss now halfway up both calves. It was so shocking that Fog put a hand to their heart and mumbled “Oh saints.” Peter had startled right up and out of his chair and was now backed up against the kitchen counter.

“Now you can’t tell me that’s not-” he started.

“Nope! Yep! That sure is! Peter go get your camera that there’s a cryptid!” Fog exhaled in one breath. “Juno-”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll help,” he sighed defeated. “Can I at least get my coat off first? Be right back.” Juno sometimes regretted living a walking distance away from the station, then reasoned that he had been in the area first, a good two decades before the radio host and the antiquarian arrived. And then after that, he remembered that before they arrived, Juno had needed to drive to the next town over for car repairs or, horror of horrors, ask Mick if he could do anything. So the only reason he went to get cinnamon and some of Peter’s essential oils was to repay a debt, nothing else, who would ever think such a thing?

When he got back to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks and was mildly startled to find the moss up to Skyler’s knees and Skyler sitting on the counter, enthusiastically answering Nureyev’s questions and reveling in photography. Fog, sensible as ever, sat in a chair wringing their hands in their jacket.

“Amazing!” Peter said enthusiastically. “The moss is growing so quickly! I’ve never seen moss do this before. Juno do you see this?”

“Yeah, I see it. And that’s because it’s not regular moss, it’s Foot Moss. It’s…” Juno sighed, putting the oils on the table. “A cryptid. Nureyev can you get me a bowl? The one Fog left in here for mixing paints.”

Skyler whooped and Nureyev got up, amused. “We got ‘im! Got ‘im to admit cryptids  _ exist _ !” Skyler hollered. “And all it took was vegetation!” Fog was already writing the date down on their hand.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Fog, get Skyler downstairs and make sure nothing happens. I’ll be right down.”

“Hey!”

“Skyler, last time something weird like this happened, you blew your own doorway out. There was a curtain in front of your shop for months now  _ get downstairs _ .” Before Skyler could protest more, Fog scooped nem up in their arms, strong from years of yanking chains, wrestling metal and people, and all around living, and ran downstairs, Skyler yelling about how it wasn’t neir fault the door exploded.

Juno, muttering, put the oil and spice in the bowl and made to go downstairs, when Peter draped his arms around him.

“You’re very kind to those kids, did you know?” Peter mumbled, burying his face in Juno’s neck.

“Yeah, well. Might as well do for them what my mom didn’t do for me, right?” Juno laughed wryly.

“Perhaps, but you don’t have to. You’re a better man than most, Juno Steel, and I’ve seen plenty.”

“Yeah, well, you know. I’m better than you are, that’s for sure.”    

“Well of course! Dating myself would be an interesting experience, but I fear it would get very boring very quickly. And you know me, Juno, I would never choose a lesser man. It’s beneath me.”

“You must have lowered your standards then.”

“I’ve met many people in my travels across the country, but the only one who could make me stay was you, Juno Steel. Do you  _ really _ think I’ve lowered my standards?”

“Uh, hm. Listen Nureyev, someone’s down there with moss up the pants, now isn’t the time for passionate declarations.”

“Well, here’s a quiet declaration then. I love you, Juno Steel.”

“Love you too,” Juno mumbled. Peter understood, and kissed his cheek.

“I DON’T MEAN TO INTERRUPT WHATEVER’S HAPPENING UP THERE,” yelled Fog from the ground floor. “BUT THE SITUATION IS GETTING DRASTIC.”

“BE RIGHT THERE,” Juno yelled back. “Coming?” he asked Peter, still wrapped around Juno.

“Of course! I’ve never seen a Foot Moss burning before.”

 

“Took ya long enough,” said Skyler, sitting legs splayed out and moss up to the thighs. Fog ran out from the garage with a lighter.

“Mosspants shouldn’t talk,” Juno retorted, pouring a cup of oil and shaking out two heaping tablespoons of cinnamon into the bowl. Fog promised Peter to get him some more on their next trip to Forks, they were really sorry. Juno lit the concoction up and told Skyler to “just let it cook until it falls off.” Peter watched in fascination as the moss slowly turned red, shrieking at a barely audible volume, and fell off in clumps.

“Hey Fog,” said Skyler, “Can we just have a bonfire? All this burning is makin’ me want s'mores.”

“Sure,” they laughed, “but first let’s stop this Foot Moss from eating you. Juno, watch nem? I’m gonna get some wood and graham crackers.”

“ _ Hey _ !” yelled Skyler at Fog’s retreating figure. Ne watched as Fog disappeared into the house, then turned neir attention to the shrieking moss. In ten minutes, Fog walked out from the back in clean corduroys and flannel, plenty of branches under one arm, a quilt under the other and their banjo slung behind them. They smiled a Cheshire smile at Skyler, whose legs were nearly done baking.

“I know that look,” said Juno suspiciously. “What did you do?”

Fog smiled some more and gestured to the street, where the residents of Hyperion who kept the radio on at this hour rolled or walked up, also carrying wood, marshmallows and blankets. Mick Mercury waved at Juno, who groaned and leaned back on his arms.

“Nooo, Fog you invited  _ everyone _ to the bonfire?” Skyler yelled dramatically. The last of the moss fell, and Peter scooped it into the fire.

“It’d be a waste otherwise,” they pointed out. “And not everybody, just my listeners of the Twilight PSA.”

“The Twilight PSA?” wondered Peter. He knew that Fog had the rare midnight musing and the daily show, but this was a new one.

“Yup, that one’s sponsored by town hall. It’s a bulletin. Tune in sometime!” Fog turned their attention to the new arrivals, greeting them and giving instructions to set up the bonfire. Skyler shook neir head and legs out.

“Well, better get some more sticks. Thanks for saving me Juno,” ne added, before running for the woods, taking a flashlight from Fog as ne ran by them.

“Watch out for Foot Mosses!” called Peter. “Well, Juno, thank you for letting me discover the elusive Foot Moss.”

“Not so elusive as that Nureyev, half the folks in town get it on the regular.”

“All the same. I’m going to get wine, be right back.”

By the time Peter came back, the bonfire was up and roaring, and half the town was there. Fog was playing Ring Around The Rosie with the Sequoyah Kids and Skyler had found a two pronged stick that ne was using to grill fifteen marshmallows on. Rita was there yakking up a storm. Juno was sitting on a quilt and staring at the fire. He turned and waved to Peter, who put down two glasses and bottle he had “found” once in a basement.

It was late summer, early September, and the night brought with it a chill that battled with the bonfire. Peter moved closer to Juno; Juno put an arm around him. One of Sam’s dogs lay down at the edge of the quilt and boofed quietly. A banjo strummed and a fiddle played an A. Peter poured out wine and gave a glass to Juno; they sat, watching the fire.

After a while and a glass, Juno leaned his head on Peter. The light of the fire danced and plunged shadows on their faces.

“You happy?”

“Of course.”

The bonfire burned well into the night, heralding autumn for Hyperion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on one of the very first spitfics and a picture of shoes covered in grass. Tried writing this while absolutely furious and that didn't get me far at All so I waited the next day and this came out fully formed. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	19. Lady of the Lake

“Goooood morning Hyperion! You’re listening to Hyperion Fog, ten twenny on the radio dial! Hallelujah folks, it’s fishin’ season! Get on out there and get grapplin’! I’m havin’ a heck of a time out here m’self, I tell you what. And I got somethin’ special for you all, listeners! With me is my station crew, you already know ‘em, Skyler and Peter and Juno, comin’ at you live from Lake Hyperion! That’s right, I’m broadcasting from the middle of the lake! So forgive me listeners at home if’n you hear some cussin’ and splashin, though I doubt anyone’s listenin' that’s not somewhere on the lake right now. This portable broadcasting stuff is really somethin’! Skyler and Mister Mystery made it for me as a birthday present, it’s the best thing ever!

“This broadcast is likely gonna be shorter than usual on account fishin’ season opened today and also b’cause I’m on a lake. And nobody in my house has had any protein for a while now so there’s some work to be done.” Fog looked at their hand, where they had written their notes. “The important stuff is: all fishing gear is full price right now in all towns backing onto Lake Hyperion, so support local business by shopping at the General Goods and Fishing Shop out by Miss Ida’s. And if you haven’t got the memo, I’m the one doin’ boat repair in town, so don’t bother visitin’ Oldtown, you won’t get your boat back.” Fog tilted the microphone back and Juno leaned over to Fog.

“Juno Steel, former park ranger here. You guys better wear calamine lotion, sunscreen, and hats. And drink water. Not lake water, unless you wanna crap your guts out.”

“Juno! The elementary school listens! Sakes alive!”

“Yeah? Then kids, watch out for sunburn and drink water after playing outside. Don’t drink hose water like Fog does; no matter what they think, it’s not safe and it doesn’t look cool. You’ll get lead poisoning.”

“ _ Juno _ ! Skyler, quit laughin’! And Peter quit smilin’! The audacity!”

“Stay safe kids. Juno Steel, signing off.”

“This is the last time I’m having anybody in my house on my show, my Lord. He is right though, don’t follow my example. Hose water is not recommended, but sink water is fine. Wh- shoot! Skyler, what just happened? Did you see?” Skyler tilted neir head onto Fog’s shoulder to reach the microphone.

"Kyle Whittaker from upcountry just tried shootin’ the fish straight out the water. Ope, cops are comin’. Peter, can you read lips? Help me out here.” Peter, who was sitting next to Fog and back to back with Juno, looked up and squinted. Fog stretched their microphone arm as high as it would go in the circumstance.

"Hm, looks like the police are telling him to not do that, is all. Oh my, he just threw his gun in the water. Seems to me like a waste of a good- Juno?  _ Juno _ ! What in the world!”

"Oh _ Lordy Lou _ listeners, Juno Steel done threw himself into the lake! Without his shoes on this time.”

"What the heck are you doin’ Juno!” Skyler shouted, loud enough for the microphone to catch. Juno Steel, in response, raised an arm out of the lake with the rifle in hand.

"Well skin me alive and call me luggage, lady of the lake done fished up a gun!” exclaimed Fog, to the utter delight of Hyperion Elementary’s student body.

"I think it still works,” Juno heaved, leaning on the edge of the boat, completely soaked.

“I wouldn’t chance it, personally,” Peter said, taking the gun and hauling Juno into the boat, with much rocking and cussing from Skyler. Fog decided it was high time to wrap up the broadcast.

“My bad listeners, I thought it’d be a shorter broadcast today, but this one was packed full to bursting with action, real poor on the fish front. I guess-”

“ _ Fog _ ?”

“Sakes  _ ALIVE _ Skyler hold my mike!”

“Hello listeners, Skyler here. All this ruckus you’re hearing is Peter Nureyev catching his first fish! What I’m seeing is a whole mess of people: Fog’s halfway off the boat yellin’ at Nureyev to haul it in, and Juno’s basically become Nureyev’s hands b’cause this is apparently a whopper and two-person joint.” In the background, Fog was yelling “Pull it in! Pull it in!” and Juno yelling back “We’re trying goddammit!” Skyler turned around.

“Is all this noise really- HOLY  _ SHIT _ IS THAT A CATFISH? IT’S HUGE!” Mary-Anne, teacher at Hyperion Elementary, gasped in outrage. “Listeners, Peter Nureyev nabbed the biggest catfish I’ve ever seen in my life! This ain’t gonna fit in the boat with all of us- ope! And Fog Burns just jumped ship. Looks like we’re headin’ to shore. Damn but this thing is wiggling.”

 

“Sorry about that listeners! Hoo… Fog Burns here. It’s real excitin’ this side o’ the lake, Peter’s gone and gutted the mud cat, and it’s as big as a rowboat, no joke and full truth. Here I was, complainin’ ‘bout the lack o’ protein and ‘lo! Juno, what’s your take on this?”

“First of all, this is a goddamn mystery. I don’t know where this fish came from because catfish are bottom feeders, and Lake Hyperion is a pretty deep lake. And thing is huge, maybe a few yards across, which means it’s been here for a while. No idea where it came from. Billingsley, what’s the record on this?”

“It’s a record alright, nobody’s ever caught a catfish in Lake Hyperion b’fore. Nice going on that one, Mister Mystery. This yer first time fishing? A real miracle. Lessee. Fog, lay down.    Mind yer hair.” Fog lay down, microphone arm up as far as it would go. “Yep, five foot four, longest critter ever caught in these parts.” Conrad Billingsley, the mailman, scooped up the fish. “I’d say… about 120 pounds. I’ll put it in the books for you. Hey Meredith!” he shouted. “Catfish, five foot four, 120 pounds, caught today by Mister Peter Nureyev!”

“You heard it here folks!” said Fog. “Peter Nureyev, our very own Mister Mystery, caught the biggest, heaviest fish ever seen in this here lake! He’s really somethin’ else, this fella. Anything you’d like to say?”

“I pride myself in being proficient at many things, but I must confess that this was my first time fishing. I certainly did not expect to break a record today, of all things! And I owe it all to Juno Steel.”

“Thank you! And thank  _ you _ , friends, for listening! Apologies to Miss Mary-Anne if there was cussing while I was otherwise occupied. Pretty incredible how this mike didn’t get wet all day. Two wet in one day, what a life! Fair winds and following seas!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story comes from a picture of a hand in the middle of a lake holding up an automatic rifle so naturally that was Juno. I personally have never fished, but it turns out that there are catfish in Washington. Always end up doing a whole lot more research than expected for these! Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	20. Chicory Coffee

Juno sat up in an empty bed, woken by the smell of… sweet tobacco? He pat Nureyev’s side of the bed; it was still warm, and if there was someone in the house, Nureyev would have woken him and dealt with it. But Nureyev didn’t smoke… did he? Juno got up to investigate.

He followed the smell all the way to the kitchen, where he discovered Peter Nureyev brewing what looked like coffee, but sure didn’t smell like it. Juno knocked on the doorway.

“Nureyev, why are you brewing cigars?”

“Oh, good morning Juno! It’s chicory coffee, would you like some?”

Juno blinked. “Chicory?” he asked, stepping in to the kitchen, receiving a kiss and a cup of what was apparently chicory coffee with milk.

“Yes, it’s very popular where I come from. It comes from the root of the endive plant, a type of salad, if you will.”

Juno Steel, on the cusp of taking a sip, looked up appalled. “A  _ salad _ ? Oh no, I’m not drinking this. No  _ way _ is this coffee. And it smells sweet! Real coffee smells like… well it smells like coffee.”

Peter laughed. “I assure you that it very much is coffee, darling, just try it. And if you don’t like it, well, there’ll be more for me, won’t there?” Juno stared the cup down. The liquid inside shook. He shut his eyes and took a sip. And opened them; it didn’t taste half bad, actually. It tasted like the smell of hazelnuts and just a little bit like the burnt skin of a marshmallow. Juno took another sip.

“Well?” asked Peter, pouring milk into another cup.

“It’s good,” admitted Juno grudgingly. “But you won’t change my mind that real coffee should be black, and anything else is fraud.”

“Yet here you’ve gone and drained three quarters of my mug,” observed Peter, taking Juno’s hand and tilting the cup towards himself.

Juno, Peter’s hand still on his, drained the mug. “Never said I didn’t like it.” Peter laughed, and took a sip of his own coffee.

 

“Juno?”

“Yuh? Oh, welcome back.”

“What’s this I’m smelling?”

“Oh, um. I tried making coffee your way. Y’know, chicory. I  _ think _ it worked, I’m not really sure… Why’re you lookin’ at me like that.”

“I’m touched is all, Juno, thank you.”

“You better try it before you go make any grand declarations of love, it tastes kinda off.”

“Did you add milk?”

“Oh. Huh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bad it's short! I am still too young at the fresh age of nearly two decades to be writing good romance. We will be taking a short break because! My poor editor has been going through it and I am in college at this very moment. Thanksgiving break is soon so I will be doing my utmost to make new stories (for the two people who read them). Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	21. Route 50, Nevada

_ I can’t do this right now _ , thought Skyler Stone. Ne pulled to the side of the road, killed the engine, crawled out of the passenger side window, and slid down the side of the car onto the dirt. Above, the granite countertop of the night sky was speckled with stars, and the gentle eye of the moon shone upon the loneliest road in America, Route 50. Skyler sighed, tilting neir head back against the passenger door. Ne’d been gone from Hyperion for three weeks now on a spree of antique shopping. The plan had been to only be gone a week, but one thing led to another, and Skyler ended up trawling Nevada’s antique shops and “dropping in” on jewelry stores. The trunk and backseat of the car was crammed full of ancient bits, bobs, and cursed objects.

A seasoned traveler, ne was used to being gone for lengths at a time, but owning the shop and making friends with Hyperion had made nem soft; Skyler was homesick, and wanted to be home. Since ne’d left, Skyler had called Fog once, because it was a lot of phone money. Skyler puffed out a laugh; either Fog was frantic, or they weren’t worried at all. Probably both; they would never tell you. Juno would be secretly worried, and Peter, well. You could never tell with that man. Skyler missed them all.

It was past midnight and Skyler had been on the road since five that morning; ne couldn’t keep going, or ne’d crash. But it was that, or sleep in the middle of the desert in a car filled with musty furniture and possibly demons. Skyler pulled neir jacket tighter around nem, inhaled and heaved nemself up. Ne dropped back down immediately, eyes wide open now. On the other side of the road that fifteen minutes ago ne’d been driving on with no lights and no buildings for the past seventy miles, was a diner. No lights were on inside except for the Open sign in the window.

_ Was that there before? _ wondered Skyler. Slowly, very slowly, ne got on neir knees and watched the diner through the passenger side window. The moonlight shown through the diner windows, illuminating the floor; nothing moved inside, except… a woman? A waitress. A waitress making coffee in a diner lit only by neon and moon that appeared out of thin air. Skyler got up, opened the passenger door, got a knife and a very sharp rock out of the glovebox, and crossed the road.

 

The bell in the door jingled, and Skyler noticed ne had no shadow. The radio on the counter played static.

“Hey, honey,” said the waitress. “You look like you’ve had a rough night; siddown at the counter. What can I get for you?”

“Um, hi. I’ll have whatever’s good I s’pose. And coffee, as black as you can get it. I don’t really like the stuff but desperate times, y’know.” The waitress nodded knowingly and got a cup.

“Don’t I know it honey. By the way, if you don’t mind me askin’, what’s a young thing like you doin’ on the road so late at night?” She set a cup of coffee down, with a full cup of creamer on the side.

“I’m,” Skyler blinked at the creamer, “going home.”

“Oh, that’s nice, no place like it I say. You been gone a long while, huh honey? Give me a second, I’ll getcha somethin’ to eat. You’re welcome to switch the station if you like, I love all kindsa music.” The waitress disappeared into the black kitchen, and Skyler poured most of the creamer into neir coffee. Ne stirred and took a sip; it tasted like gunmetal. Skyler reached over to fiddle with the radio.

The radio was on FM 98.7, but as ne expected, all the channels from 70.9 to 108.3 were static too. Sometimes, snippets of words burbled out from the static: “Gotcha”, “You know”, “The end”, “Calloway”. Sighing, Skyler leaned neir head on a hand and, on impulse, turned the dial all the way down until ne hit FM 10.20. And out of the static came a very familiar voice.

“… you tell me, Juno, I’m not an expert in the ways of your world yet. But I do intend to be. Oh, is it on? Thank you. Hm… I’ve never started a radio show, Fog, what would you suggest? Alright then, go with my gut… Are our paths written in the stars, or do we see in the stars our own paths? Good evening, and welcome to Midnight Musings with Fog Burns. I’m your host tonight, Peter Nureyev.”

“And I’m… your cohost, Juno Steel.”

“And a very lovely one at that. Of  _ course _ that sounds familiar, Fog, I listened to your midnight show as I first arrived in Hyperion, and I never forgot it. I would bet that most of the town listens to your midnight show, but it’s one of those things one doesn’t speak of. Well you told me- Yes, now go to sleep.”

Skyler inhaled sharply, very much awake now, and turned up the volume.

“For those of you wondering why I am hosting Fog’s midnight musings, some interesting things have been happening tonight. As you all know, the…”

“The Solid Dark.”

“The Solid Dark, thank you Juno, has descended upon our town, and so we’re all locked in our homes.”

“I don’t know who wouldn’t, ‘cause apparently everybody in town listens to Fog no matter what time it is, but for those who don’t know, ‘the Solid Dark’ is a name that Fog and Mose came up with for the pitch black darkness that nobody can see past their hands in. It,” Juno sighed, “came down on the town, around seven in the evening, and now we’re all stuck inside.”

“The reason why Juno and I are broadcasting tonight, instead of Fog, is because of this. And I’m sorry for the volume, but they’re sleeping. We were having dinner with them, when we all noticed it getting dark very quickly, even for November. They looked out the kitchen window and absolutely  _ tore _ for their station, sounding an emergency broadcast. That child has quite an extensive network! Well, they told you all to get inside and lock the doors and to not move until morning, so Juno and I were locked in here with them. Fog completely exhausted themselves making calls to everyone in town and the next town over, asking if the Dark had covered them too and making sure everyone was safe.”

“That kid had all the phone lines ringing at the same time, and they had me  _ and _ them pulling a Rita trying to answer them all. But I gotta give ‘em credit, they didn’t stop calling for three hours. Practically started a party line.” Skyler laughed softly in the dark diner. Trust Fog to call up a frenzy and exhaust themselves on the phone.

“Even I was deputized! They sent me to lock all the windows and get bedding, and it was most shocking to see an eye look at me from the attic skylight. No, don’t  _ worry _ Fog, I have gris-gris, remember? Yes, go to  _ sleep _ .”

“Clue’s fine too, if anybody cares. She’s sleeping with Fog.”

“Well, not much else in other news. We’re all sleeping in the station tonight, apparently. Fog moved their equipment to the back of their house, so now we have a lovely view of the woods behind it. Or we would, if we could see anything.”

“Can’t even see anything on a regular day, it’s so cloudy here.”

“It is, isn’t it? Even at night. I must say, this has turned out to be just a regular broadcast, hasn’t it. It’s much more ‘musing’ when Fog’s broadcasting.”

“No such thing as a ‘regular’ broadcast around here, Nureyev, even Fog’s daytime show is weird.”

“Right as ever, Juno. Anything  _ you _ would like to say?”

“I’m more of a one-liner kinda dame, but lemme try anyway. Nah, nothing. Except that ‘we all’, meaning Fog, miss Skyler even though ne’s due back soon.”

“Soon? How do you know?”

“Y’know the Watcher, on the roof. It predicts things when it’s in a good mood or Clue asks it to.”

“Clue? _ Asks it _ ?”

“Don’t look so surprised, Nureyev, she’s a Cat. I mind my own business, she minds hers, and she eats my leftovers.”

“Mow!”

“Yeah, that’s my girl. You awake now? Okay.”

“Well! That rumbling you’re hearing is Clue purring into the microphone. Juno, I’m not sure if Fog will like having cat fur all over their desk and recording equipment.”

“After what they put me through on a daily basis? I’ll pet my cat on their damn stove if I want to.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. Well, Skyler, come home soon, Fog misses you, and I, to tell the truth, am tired of minding your antique store. Jewelry and the paranormal are  _ much _ more exciting. Oh, hush Juno. Are you going to tell me the paranormal doesn’t exist with what’s happening this very moment? I thought not. To all the listeners out there, please don’t go out tonight, and try to get some sleep. We’ll see what morning brings us when we get there. Good night, Hyperion, and-”

“Fair winds and following seas.”

“Oh, Juno!”

“What? You play their show all the damn time, of course I’d remember their stupid catchphrase, geez…”

Skyler’s heart squeezed. The sound clicked off and a plate of cinnamon cake clicked onto the counter in front of Skyler.

“Sorry for the wait, honey, here’s your cake. Found anything interesting on the radio?” Skyler shrugged and picked up neir fork.

“Just the usual. Late night gospel, talk shows, that sorta thing.”

“Oh, I love a good talk show, especially around this time of night. Nothing like not being alone in the dark, huh? Here’s the bill, but take your time honey. I got nothing to do all night long.” Skyler thanked the waitress, watching as she melted into the darkness behind the counter. Ne swigged neir coffee and creamer, folded the cake into a few napkins for later, and slid the exact amount of cash and change onto the counter before leaving. The bell jingled again as the door swung, and Skyler crossed the street, taking care to not look back at the diner. Once ne was a little distance away, ne looked into the rearview mirror; the only thing behind nem was the moonlit asphalt of Route 50, the loneliest road in America. Skyler, wide awake now, tried the car radio; of course, of  _ course _ , it was busted. So ne began to sing:

_ “Homeward bound, _

_     I wish I was, _

_     Homeward bound, _

_     Home where my thought's escaping, _

_     Home where my music's playing, _

_     Home where my love lies waiting _

_     Silently for me.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was falling asleep, the opening scenario to this one came to me and I flashed right awake for a good two minutes before checking out. Somewhat based on a picture I seen of a melting black person sitting at a diner booth. Ditched my homework to make this one. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	22. Ghost Stories

“Juno!  _ Juno _ ! Fog, Skyler, come see this!” Juno, elbow-deep in the engine of his car, twisted as far around as his back would allow him to see Peter Nureyev running,  _ running _ , past the garage and shouting.

“Nureyev! Over here, what’s going on!” shouted Juno right back. One of the feet poking out from under the car nudged his ankle. “Rita, try it now,” he added. The foot nudged a little harder and Juno widened his stance; Fog shot out from under the car, once again covered in grease and a bandanna on their face, just as Rita turned on the engine. It rumbled to life.

“It works! Mista Steel, it’s a miracle!” crowed Rita, turning off the ignition and hopping out of the car.

“It really is,” exhaled Fog, pulling down the bandanna. Juno closed the hood and wiped his hands on a rag.

“What did I tell you, this old thing still has some gumption left in her. Anyway, what’s got you breathless today, Nureyev?” Peter Nureyev, having caught his breath, leaned against the side of the garage.

“Among other things, you, Juno. You  _ always _ take my breath away.” Juno coughed and Rita squealed.

“This is _ just  _ like my period dramas! When Sergeant Clifford sees Miss Evangeline and-”

“What was it you were yelling about Nureyev?” Juno interrupted.

“Oh! Yes! I saw a ghost! And I took pictures,” he added before Juno could interrupt again with “ghosts don’t exist.” He waved polaroids in Juno’s face. “This time, I have proof.” Fog took Peter’s arm and brought it to their and Rita’s level. Rita covered her mouth and gasped. Fog’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

“A real life  _ ghost _ ! And in a  _ sheet _ ,  _ just _ like in the books! Oh, oh, Mista Nureyev, didja ask why it’s still on this  _ mortal coil _ ? Oh this is so excitin’ I’m-” Before the end of the sentence, Fog turned and flung themselves out of the garage and towards the back of their house at top speed. “What’s up with them?” asked Rita. “They’ve been goin’ absolutely crazy all day, Fog’s gonna catch somethin’ if they keep this up!” Juno took up the polaroids and got another look. Peter had taken a long shot, and a closeup, as if the ghost had posed for him. And under the sheet, where the eye holes were, Juno could see the very edge of a tortoiseshell glasses frame.

“Nureyev…” he sighed. “Did you… ask the ghost… to hold still for you?”

“I did, in fact, and it did hold still for me. Quite polite, the dead, these days. Where I’m from they aren’t half so kind.”

“Nureyev, listen… this isn’t a ghost. This is-”

“PETER PETER PETER WAIT! SHOW SKYLER THE PICTURE!” hollered Fog, charging back from the woods with Skyler in tow, a large piece of white fabric flying behind nem. The both of them stumbled to a stop in front of Peter, breathless.

“Haven’t seen you all day, Skyler. What’ve you been up to?” asked Juno, eyebrow raised. Skyler, bent over neir knees, lifted a hand.

“Y’know,” ne took a deep breath. “Laundry.” Skyler held up what turned out to be a bed sheet, the very middle scrunched up in neir hand. Juno raised the other eyebrow. Skyler never did the laundry, and would wear the same shirt for weeks if Fog didn’t sneak it into the wash or literally wrestled it off nem. Fog thanked their lucky stars they were a mechanic, because nobody could tell whether their hands were slippery from grease or nervous sweat.

"Let me take a look at those pictures, Nureyev.” Skyler put out a hand, the other firmly clutching the bed sheet. Peter gave nem the polaroids. “Yep, these look authentic, a real ghost! Ain’t it, Fog?”

"Yep, sure is.” Fog clenched their fists behind them as Juno lost it.

"Oh, come on! That’s not a ghost, that’s just Skyler in a bed sheet. Nureyev, you know better than this, don’t fall for tourist trap stuff!” Nureyev blinked, Skyler blinked, Rita’s hands flew over her mouth, and Fog started sweating. The bed sheet dropped to the ground.

“Is this a  _ conspiracy _ ?” stage-whispered Rita. Juno rolled his eyes.

“No, Rita, it’s just Skyler making a fool outta the tourists.” Nureyev gave Juno a look of reprobation. A tourist! The nerve.

“Why Juno,” said Skyler, “I don’t know what you mean. It looks like a ghost, it’s shaped like a ghost, so it has to be a ghost!” Rita took Skyler’s arm to bring the pictures to her level.

“Well I dunno Mista Steel, they look pretty authentic to me! The eye holes are completely black and everythin’! And they kinda look… a lil’ scary.” Rita adjusted her glasses, and Fog peeped over her shoulder. Fog’s eyes widened in alarm. Rita dropped Skyler’s arm and backed right into Fog, who gripped her shoulders in growing terror. “Actually  _ really _ scary Mista Steel! I dunno if it’s my glasses or the fact that I ate a whole mold of aspic before I came to help with the car, but somethin’s up with those ghost photographs!” Skyler, never really present at the best of times, focused and took a better look at the pictures. Now it was neir eyes’ turn to widen in shock and alarm, and in neir haste to shove the pictures back in Peter’s hand, ne hardly registered the feeling of fabric brushing past neir ankle. Peter, now very much concerned, took another look. Black holes? Those weren’t what the eyes of the ghost he’d seen looked like… were they? Curiosity killing them both, Rita and Skyler crowded around Peter to see what the picture was becoming. Fog had to let go of Rita’s shoulders and hung back behind Juno, trembling; the wind had picked up, and that made them unusually nervous.

“Aspic? Rita, I told you, I’ll buy you snacks, just wait ’til I get the check from that last case with the frogs.” It was Juno’s turn to grab Peter’s arm and look at the pictures. “Uh-oh. That’s actually pretty bad.” The ghost’s eye holes in the closeup picture had changed; what used to be normal eyes behind tortoiseshell frames had gone completely to black, and now they were coming back to color. Before Juno’s eyes, a circle of white emerged from the black, and in the middle of each circle ringed with the dark, a pinprick of black pupil. Though the ghost had no other facial features to speak of, it looked, somehow, uncontrollably angry.

“That… Nureyev. The picture developed, didn’t it? That was Skyler under a sheet, right? What… is this.” After all his years in Hyperion and the woods, dealing with the paranormal (though he’d never admit it), Juno had seen  _ many _ strange things. But this was new, and was looking more dangerous by the second. Nervous now, Juno was about to tell Peter to burn or tear up the polaroid, when Fog made the most terrified sound he’d ever heard right behind him. Juno spun around, heart going a mile a minute. Rita screamed too, and Skyler looked like ne’d seen a ghost.

“ _ Dammit _ Fog! In my ear! What the hell’s wrong with you!” Fog, terror-stricken, clutched Juno’s sleeve and pointed a shaking hand. Juno followed its path.

The garage was located at one end of the town, and backed onto the Hyperion National Forest. Juno’s house was in front of the garage, and past the garage was only a road that traveled through the forest to the next town over. In the middle of the road was the bed sheet that Skyler had been clutching, now floating in the air. The wind had picked up even more, and the sheet thrashed; amidst its thrashing, it turned, as if someone underneath was turning to face them all. Only, it had no legs. Finally, it revolved completely, and faced them. Time slowed for Juno, and his heart seized. The ghost in the picture had appeared before them, pinprick pupils in white eyes, ringed with black. What scared Juno the most though wasn’t the eyes; the ghost, despite being faceless, was violently, viciously angry. He could see that in two seconds, they would all be in mortal danger. What could he do? What could he  _ do _ -

“ _ MISTA STEEL WATCH OUT! _ ” Juno distantly registered someone yanking him back and wrapping long arms around him, just as his newly repaired car shot out of the garage, pulled a sharp left and ran right smack into the ghost, running it down in a flat second. Juno blinked and came back to his senses, held firmly in Peter’s arms.

“What the hell?  _ What _ just happened!” he shouted. Peter, breathing somewhat heavily, held him tighter.

“I believe your secretary ran down a, an evil spirit of some sort. Are you alright, Juno?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.  _ Rita _ !” Rita waved a hand out of the driver seat window and shouted back, putting the car in reverse and running over the flattened sheet a few times for good measure.

“I’m okay Mista Steel!  _ Geez _ ya car’s fast! Why didn’tcha tell me this was a muscle car boss? I coulda busted the wall!” Juno blinked again, and covered Peter’s arms with his own, telling him it was fine now.

“I got it at the police department’s auction, I didn’t know! Rita, did you just-”

“ _ Rita you just ran down a ghost _ !” shouted Skyler, now snapped out of neir own haze. Juno turned and saw Skyler, waving neir arms. Fog was laid out flat on the ground, chest heaving. So long as they were breathing, they were fine; they didn’t do too well when faced with evil these days. Skyler, followed by Juno and Peter, ran up to Rita to see the remains of the ghost. She reversed the car and parked at the side of the road.

“Yikes!” she exclaimed.

“Yikes indeed,” noted Peter, surveying the road. The sheet had tire marks and dirt all over it, and was splattered with black slime. It was torn in some places, and some string hung out of the eye holes.

“Disgustin’” mumbled Fog, now upright and crouched as close as they dared over the mess. “Never thought I’d see this thing again.” Fog raised their head. Juno leaned over Fog, hands balanced on Fog’s shoulders, looked sharply down and met their gaze. They smiled, just a little bit, to show all was well.

“You know what this is,” accused Juno. Peter crouched down to hear. Skyler, using a branch, was picking up bits of the sheet to see what the slime was, and kept an ear open. Rita opened the door of the back seat and sat in it.

“Yea, I do,” they sighed. “Brace yourself, this is gonna be gruesome. So, this black stuff, this is blood, the kind you throw up when you’re bleedin’ in the stomach. And the string, wanna guess?”

“Is it… hair?” asked Peter tentatively. Skyler put neir stick down and looked up, mildly green. Juno shut his eyes.

“Yep. This thing, ghost, evil spirit, is somethin’ that happens in real specific circumstances. It’s the kinda ghost that… what’s the word? For showin' up.”

“Manifests,” Juno volunteered reluctantly.

“Yea. The kinda ghost that manifests when someone per-tic-yew-ler-ly mean and vicious gets stabbed in the gut and kicks it.” Fog chewed their tongue. “D’you know anyone like that here, Juno?”

Juno stood up and leaned against his car, next to Rita, who looked mighty green herself. Peter cleared his throat, holding up Skyler who was on the verge of oblivion.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but might we have this conversation elsewhere? I have a strong stomach, but this is not something I particularly wish to keep looking at.” Skyler nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Oh, sure. This has gotta be cleaned up first,” said Fog. They stood, and looked at the roof of their house. Sure enough, the Watcher took wing and swooped to ground level.

“I did not intervene, because I could not. I will tell you later. Do you have a match?” it asked. Peter, foisting Skyler on to Fog, dug through his many pockets; beneath a deck of cards, some loose screws, and small bottle of vermouth, he found a matchbook, and pulled it out. “Yes, good. Take a feather of mine, light it, and drop it on this mess of a man. Back up! Back up first.” It waddled into garage. Rita popped back into the driver’s seat. Juno, taking the opportunity to not walk, sat in the backseat and went with Rita to park his car in the garage. Fog, carefully balancing Skyler with a leg, wrestled the matches and feather away from Peter, who put up a minor fuss. They managed to get Peter to let go of the matches by dropping Skyler on him.

“Fog! Don’t treat me like a lawn scarecrow!” squawked Skyler in indignation.

They lit a match in response. Peter, sometimes one to heed warnings, took cover in the car with Juno and Rita, shoving Skyler into the backseat. Fog, in a daredevil move, stuck the lit match between their teeth, lowered their sleeves, took out the match, pulled their bandanna up over their nose, lit the feather and dropped it on the mess of ghost. It started sizzling and popping like a hot egg, and gurgled to boot. The mess went silent, and Fog slid behind the car with the Watcher right as it exploded. What was different about this explosion was that nothing was left of the ghost that had frozen Juno to the dirt road; no strips of cloth, no flesh or ghostly remains, not even a mark on the road itself was left. The Watcher shared a glance with Fog. It nodded at them, and sank into the shadow beneath the Pontiac. Fog patted the ground and left half a box of raisins as a thank you, then reached up and knocked at the car window.

“Kitchen! I’ll make somethin’ hot, and Juno tell me whatcha know. You all stayin’ for dinner?” Cautiously, the car emptied out. Peter glanced at Fog, then their hands: if he didn’t know better, he’d say they were trembling. Juno exited, and Skyler slithered out onto the garage floor.

“ _ Uuugghhh _ , I hate evil spirits,” ne groaned. Ne got up, pat Fog on the shoulder, and went inside.

“Get the stove goin’!” Fog shouted after nem. Rita bounced through the garage doorway and out of her shoes.

“Oh my  _ gosh _ boss that was so  _ spooky _ it was like watchin’ Eye of the Devil except there weren’t no devils and I  _ ran down a ghost _ Mista Steel I didn’t know I had it in me! Maybe I should try goin’ in for the Formula 1 or somethin’, whatcha think boss…” Juno followed Rita into the house, doing his utmost to get a word in edgewise. Peter reached the door last, and turned back to look at Fog. He could have been wrong, between the gloom of a Washington evening in November and all the grease stains, but the shadows beneath Fog’s eyes made it seem as if their eyes had begun to sink back into their skull.

“Are you… alright?” he ventured, extending a hand. Fog, shaking their head, huffed a laugh and folded his hand closed.

“Take care o’ yerself, and I’ll be right as rain. After all,” Fog covered his hand in theirs. “It ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen b’fore.” Fog pushed Peter through the door, took off their work boots, and shot upstairs to shower as fast as humanly possible. Peter pensively put his coat by Juno’s on the coat stand. If living in Hyperion had taught him one thing, it was that omens littered the streets like old cans, and were just as likely to carry tetanus.

“Nureyev! Get over here!” Tipped out of his musings by Juno, Peter proceeded to the warmly-lit kitchen. “What took you so long?” asked Juno, boiling milk on the stove.

“Oh you know, just a conversation.” Peter looked at Juno. Juno hummed and added some salt to the milk; some conversations were better not had out loud in the company of the owner of a pawn shop. Rita, for her part, was yakking up a storm with Skyler about which was better, Ritz crackers or saltines, while pulling out spices as Juno called for them. On the stove was both hot water and the beginnings of hot chocolate. Peter walked over and wrapped his arms around Juno’s waist, leaning his chin on Juno’s shoulder.

“I think,” Peter whispered, “we are going to have some trouble  _ very _ soon.” Juno grumbled. Rita’s volume went up.

“Not the first time I guess. That’s what was taking so long?” Juno nodded at the cayenne; Peter reached and got it for him, arm never leaving Juno’s waist.

“Mhm. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that  _ any _ thing can be trouble in Hyperion.” Juno snorted and added cocoa powder.

“You got that right. Rita!” he added at a normal volume. “Check the oven.” In the oven was most of a shepherd’s pie and an open pot of lentils; walking into the station house after four in the evening was a surefire way of being made to stay for dinner, and it was nigh six in the evening.

“It’s gettin’ there Mista Steel!” she shouted back. Skyler got up to get mugs, and Juno turned the stove off.

“Alright, hot stuff’s done. Who wants tea, who wants hot chocolate?”

“MARSHMALLOWS!” hollered Rita.

“Ditto!” yelled Skyler, throwing a hand up in the air, clanking the mugs together.

“BOTH!” shrieked Fog, sliding into the kitchen at top speed and right into Peter, who went “oof”.

“Well, Juno, it seems that I too am part of the majority today,” chuckled Peter, picking Fog up from where they’d slid half onto the floor, clean patchwork skirt pooled around them like a few broken jars of jam. Juno rolled his eyes, smiling.

“Would never have guessed. There’s cayenne in here, are you  _ sure _ you want marshmallows?” A resounding shout of “yes” echoed off the walls of the kitchen. Clue, who’d come in from who knows where, yowled and tried to climb up Juno’s pants.

“Nuh-uh, you can’t have milk. I’ll cook you an egg, how’s that?”

“Mow!”

“Yeah, I thought so. Fog, you got eggs?”

It was their turn to roll some eyes. “‘Course I got eggs, this is a baker’s house. Here.” In exchange for the egg, Fog took the pot of hot chocolate and poured it out, silently bracing for a frightening conversation. There was nothing better for courage than hot liquids and chocolate; both in one? Instant bravery. Skyler was on the floor, bracing a three-legged chair from beneath while Rita stood on it, hunting through the pantry for marshmallows. She found it, crowed in triumph, and as soon as she got off the chair it collapsed on top of Skyler in a pile of wood. Juno stared and Peter put a hand over his grin.

“Bustin’ chairs again Skyler? Will you learn?” said Fog, exasperated. They shook marshmallows into every cup and gave the bag back to Rita, who promptly emptied it over her cup then poured the cocoa over it like milk over cereal. Peter handed her a spoon and the whipped cream, of which she made liberal use of.

“Alright,” said Fog, closing the many kitchen curtains and turning on the lights. “Juno, let’s hear it. Who coulda been the ghost of my garage.” Juno put his mug down, and Rita fell silent. Clue slunk into his lap, and Juno put a hand on Clue’s back.

“Few years back, this was before all your times, ‘cept Rita, some guy called Fulgence Allegheny lived in a cabin  _ way _ back in the forest. You know where Mose’s place is? Further back. I mean so deep that when I was ranger, you couldn’t go alone, because if you got lost it was forever. Rita, d’you remember him?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Don’t like rememberin’ him.” Clue slipped into her lap.

“Well,” continued Juno. “Every once in a while, and I mean every month, he’d come into town and get stuff like tire irons and pig tails. And something else, what was it…”

“Raw lye,” supplied Rita.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” interrupted Peter, “but how do  _ you _ know what his grocery list was, Juno?” Juno blinked at him.

“I’m a detective, Nureyev, it’s my job.”

“Yes, but you were a ranger then.”

“Oh. Well, I did some work on the side.”

“You were a gossip you mean!” teased Skyler, pointing a spoon at said gossip, who said nothing to the contrary and took a sip.

“So this guy, he shows up, buys a bunch of weird things, and leaves. But one month, I think it was January, he doesn’t show up. February, same thing. So by April, we figure it’s time somebody go see if he’s still alive. I wasn’t on the team that went to find him, but Mose was. Because,” said Juno, answering Skyler’s forthcoming question, “he’s the only one in town who the woods let stay and stay safe.”“Well ya forget yaself boss,” added Rita, waving a spoonful of whip around.

“And me,” amended Juno. “So according to what I heard, they did… find him. I wasn’t there, but, um. He. They found him staked to the ground splayed out, stuck through the guts with tire irons and. Guh.” Juno whooshed out a breath and clenched his teeth. Rita glanced at her boss and picked up the slack.

“All the edges of his fingers were chewed off, and apparently it was by pigs,” finished Rita. She quickly gulped down the rest of her drink.

"The thing that got people talking,” Juno continued, “is that he died with his eyes open and the meanest look on his face. Almost like…”

“Like he was cursing someone,” Fog finished, nodding, and got up to get the beans. The table stared after them.

“How, how do you know that. Fog. Tell me,” said Juno in a hollow voice. Fog spun around, pot of lentils firmly in hand.

“My uncle Constantine turned into a ghost just like that,” they declared, as if announcing that one’s uncle was a murderous spirit with billiard ball eyes was the most natural thing in the world. Juno startled so hard he banged a knee on the table. Skyler stared, eyes wide, and leaned the slightest bit back in neir chair. Rita slapped her hands over her mouth. Peter put a hand over his eyes, as if exasperated. Fog shrugged, made a “toldja!” face and put the pot on a trivet before going for the pie.

“I s’spect yer finished with the mugs? Skyler, if y’would.” Skyler wordlessly got up, collected the mugs, and put them in the sink.

“Well, Fog, now you  _ must _ tell us the story,” said Peter dryly. Fog, in response, handed him the spatula and sat down.

“So, my uncle Constantine Burns. Firstly, ya gotta know who he was, what he done, how he done did what he did. Fella was the bane of the county. Small town, but we, meaning me and my grandmama, would get reports from the next towns over that he’d gamble and, ah,  _ get _ folks that he lost to. He’d fight ‘em, knifelike. And, it would be. A bad way, he’d get them into. And y’know, well y’don’t know, but everyone in the family’s got a trick. Constantine, his was goin’ unnoticed, which was the  _ worst _ trick anybody could have. So he never got caught, ‘cept when he was drunk, which he never was. Man was smart as a whip, sharp as glass, all the time. Oh, thanks.” They took the proffered plate. “Hated, he was, the whole county round. On account he was gettin’ folks’ husbands and dads and such, and our family was kinda hated too b’cause he had the Burns name.” Fog took a bite. The rest of the table sat in rapt attention.

“One day, he got the local curandera’s husband and, well, he got what he got! Sure enough, sheriff found him at the edge of town with a laundry pole stuck through him, angriest expression you ever seen on his face.” Skyler looked away and swallowed nervously, then stuck a forkful of shepherd’s pie in neir mouth. Peter got up for a few glasses of water.

“Damned beast, well, it was on us to bury him! So we didn’t, we cremated him. The priest said the rites, my grandmama said the rest, and my mama put some charms and chains to keep him down, on account never trust anybody who dies eyes open.” Fog made a sign of warding in front of them. “But of  _ course _ ,” they continued, disgusted, “he was a  _ Burns _ . So he came  _ back _ . Same way whatsisname did just now. What these cusses do is manifest under whatever sheet they find so,  _ while I was hanging up the laundry _ .” Skyler gasped and Rita went “ _ no _ !” Peter reached across the table and pat Fog’s hand. Juno nudged their shoulder, and Clue slunk into their lap. “Thank you. I was eight years old then, so I screamed like hell gone wild and ran like a hot goat back into the house. Straight through the screen door, actually. Grandmama was in the kitchen so she sent him right back from whence he came by throwing a hot iron on him doused in powdered black tourmaline and cumin. She was ironin’ at the time. S’what I rubbed on your wheels an’ the front o’ your car, Juno, s’why Rita creamed the ghost. Black tourmaline, but I used cayenne instead.”

“ _ You’re _ why I only have half a jar of cayenne left?” asked Juno, disbelieving.

“ _ You’re the one who took my tourmaline _ ?” cried Skyler in outrage.

“Yep. So thas why I know ‘bout these ghosts, had one in the family. Eat yer pie b’fore it gets cold.” Fog took a deep breath followed by a big forkful of pie and beans, ignoring the stares of the table. Peter was the first to break the silence.

“You certainly have had… an interesting life, Fog.”

“Don’t I know it! And I’ll tell ya all about it one day, but in the summertime. Promise, now eatcha beans.”

Once dinner and dessert (spiced pears) was over and done with, Juno made tea while Skyler did the dishes. Fog heaved a great sigh, slid down their chair and turned their head to Rita.

“Miz Rita?”

“Uh-huh?”

“I made about four hundred shortbread cookies would you-”

“YEAH!” burst Rita. Fog was delighted, and immediately got three empty honey jars to fill with shortbread cookies, incidentally heart shaped. Juno gave them a mug of tea and watched them strong-arm Peter into helping them fill honey jars with cookies.

“Thank you for dinner Fog, Skyler! Good night!” shouted Peter from the doorstep, and Juno waved, a jar of cookies in the other hand. Fog and Skyler waved back and went inside, bickering about the detergent.

Once upstairs, Juno shucked off his coat and shoes and put the cookies in the kitchen, before going to the bedroom and falling face-first onto the bed. He felt the bed bounce and a quiet exhale of breath, and turned his head; sure enough, there was Peter Nureyev. Peter smiled softly.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” Juno murmured back.

“How are you holding up?” inquired Peter. Juno, to answer the question, smirked and rolled onto him, who huffed and laughed.

“I’m okay, how’re you?” teased Juno. Peter slapped his thigh, and Juno rolled off.

“Never better,” wheezed Peter. “But how are you  _ really _ ?”

“I’m okay, Nureyev, really. Got a little spooked there, but like Fog says: ‘can’t be brave on an empty stomach,’ and they covered that one real well.” Peter hummed, and held Juno’s hand.

“We’re going to be in a bit of trouble soon, aren’t we?”

“Sure looks like it Nureyev, but that’s nothing we haven’t been through before, right?” Peter chuckled and kissed the back of Juno’s hand.

 

The Watcher shook its wings, perched on the edge of the roof of Juno’s apartment. It glared at the moon, who, in answer, sent a wind to shake the trees. Instead of the whisper of leaves, Peter, an arm around Juno’s waist, thought he heard the rattle of bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this one on the morning of September 22, during a rainstorm that had lasted since the day before since 5 in the afternoon that.The spitfic for this one is actually not scary at all and is in fact the entire bit before the polaroid goes wack. I don't know where the rest came from because I actually got very scared of seeing Fulgence Allegheny during writing and I had to sit with my sister. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	23. Tree Huggers

Since Juno Steel, Private Eye, had left the Hyperion Forest ranger force, he hadn’t had much call to delve deep into the forest. And he hadn’t been this deep in the forest since he was seventeen and… well, you know. The deepest he’d been in after that was when the Devil came back and he’d had to get his hands dirty. The only reason he was here  _ this _ time was because Rita had insisted, saying it was time for an “escape from big city life” to which Juno had replied,

“We live in the sticks, Rita. The tallest building in town is the church steeple out where the Methodists live. The pines behind the office are taller than the church.” Rita had heard none of it and in a matching raincoat-rainboot-umbrella combo (yellow and ducks) had dragged Juno into walking with her deep into the woods.

“Rita,  _ how _ do you not have blisters by now?” asked Juno, as Rita splashed through a puddle.

“Thick socks boss! How do  _ you _ not have blisters, huh?”

“What—Rita. I’m wearing boots.”

“Well so’m I! So—”

“Wait Rita hang on.” Juno listened. And there it was again, the  _ highly _ specific sound of fabric rubbing against bark.

“What is it boss is it some kinda  _ ghost _ ?” Rita whispered loudly.

“Rita, ghosts go through trees, and second of all ghosts aren’t real so I dunno what you’re talking about. Now be quiet, and let me…” Juno, Rita riding his coattails, got behind a tree and gingerly peeked around it. He shot right back, eyes blown wide open.

“What is it boss?  _ What is it _ ?” Rita snuck a peek around Juno and clapped her hands to her face.

“Holy snappin’  _ mackerel _ boss! It’s a  _ body _ !” she stage-whispered. Juno, for all that his heart was power-walking, rolled his eyes.

“No, Rita. It’s a tree branch with a suit around it and um. Shoes.” He took another look; surely enough. A suitcoat was buttoned around a large tree branch, and from the torso sprouted some very normal legs with shoes. It was the head that moved around the branch that nearly put Juno on the needle-covered ground.

“Juno,” said Skyler’s head. “Why you gotta wake me up buddy?” Skyler waved neir arms at Juno who glared at nem, furiously silent, from behind the tree. Skyler reached as far as ne could into the fork behind nem and jostled something.

“What the  _ hell _ are you doing up there?” demanded Juno. “How did you even get there?” Skyler shrugged as best ne could.

“Sometimes you just gotta take a tree nap my friend,” ne yawned. Juno’s eyes widened as two arm stretched out from behind the branch and another head appeared.

“Mista  _ Nureyev _ !” cried Rita. Peter waved and smiled, knowing full well what effect this would have. Juno walked out from behind the tree to do some demanding and stopped dead in his tracks as a headless body in overalls came into view, hanging from a branch nearby. Skyler, following Juno’s gaze, reached over and pushed the shoulder of the body like a little swing. It swung, sure enough, and the tousled head of Fog Burns peeped sleepily over the hem of their overalls.

“H’lo…? Oh, Juno! Rita hello!”

This was the last straw.

“What the hell are you all doing in the trees!? This deep in the forest!” Juno hollered. “Don’t you know people  _ disappear _ here?”

“Oh, Juno,” sighed Peter. “We’re all of us the  _ least _ likely to be taken, don’t you know by now?” Juno had made it to the bottom of the tree, and moved for Peter to climb down. Peter jumped the last foot, leaned against the tree and pulled Juno to him. “Thank you for worrying, darling, but we’re alright, see?” Juno shoved his face in Peter’s shoulder and mumbled “fine.” Peter smiled fondly and turned to watch Rita yelling up at Skyler, who was yelling back down and wriggling as much as was possible in the circumstance. Juno propped his chin up on Peter’s collarbone and yelled:

“How’d you get up there Skyler?”

“Me and Rita’re wondering the same thing!” ne hollered back.

“Juno!” interjected Fog. “Come see!” Sighing, Juno, Peter’s hand in his, moved to right beneath Fog; they pointed to the fork in the tree. “Join us!” they beseeched.

“Nuh-uh.” Juno shook his head. “I’m not climbing that today. Some other time. And I don’t know how to climb trees so get off my case.”

“You don’t know how to climb trees Juno?” wondered Peter. “But you used to be a park ranger! How can that be?”

“I’m scared of heights, okay? They don’t agree with me.” Juno glared upwards and crossed his arms.

“Thas perfect!” Fog declared, swinging back and forth. “Rita! Haul up this tree, and June’n Pete there’s a big ol’ hollow at the bottom of this big ol’ tree, betcha c’n fit in that!” Peter had never been fussy about getting dirty and was always game for some fun, so he laughed and tugged Juno after him into the ground. It took some doing and some “ow, Nureyev! Get those elbows outta my side will ya?” but they both got situated just as a laundry line of Hyperion Nightcrawlers loped through the woods, followed by a small, black and furry one. Rita had scrambled up into the fork some time ago (the tree had interesting nobs in it, it being the only non-fir in the whole Hyperion Forest), and hissed “here they come!” Juno squinted, and Peter handed him his binoculars.

“No,” muttered Juno, “that can’t be… a cat?” Hyperion Nightcrawlers, as a rule, Jeans that move, but the one in Juno’s line of sight was not denim; it was at most Velvet. This one had furry black legs that tapered into two cat paws and had the eyes of a cat. Not to mention it was extremely excitable; this crawler ran around and through the legs of the other crawlers and jigged. Peter took back the binoculars.

“Juno, were you talking about the little black one?”

“Yeah.” A corner of Peter’s mouth quirked upwards.

“It looks a little like Clue, doesn’t it? But this one moves  _ much _ faster than her.”    

“All black cats look like Clue, Nureyev, she’s a black cat. Same animal.”    

“Well yes, but I can’t tell what color the eyes are on this one.”

“Huh. I guess it is like Clue then.”

Hyperion Nightcrawlers have no sense of smell, and the cat-shaped one was no exception; it only had eyes on its face. Juno and Peter watched the crawlers lope around for a while, enfolding sticks into their legs, the small one jigging about the whole time and jumping before it fell prone to the ground. Peter and Juno’s eyes widened simultaneously in mild shock, but there was nothing to fear. A size 23 in men’s loped up to the little beast, picked it up in the crook of its knee and hung it over its waistband. Evidently, this one was the chief Nightcrawler, as it started back the way it came and the rest of the laundry line followed.

Once they were all gone, the band of the treetops descended, and Juno and Peter got out of the hollow with less grumbling. Peter stretched upwards and his entire spine cracked and elongated by an inch.

“Whoo! I’m not as young as I used to be!” he exclaimed. Juno gave him a long, long look, and stretched his knees out. It sounded an awful lot like a heavy pyrex dish being dropped from the roof of the agency.

“‘Not as young’, huh Nureyev,” replied Juno, deadpan. Peter was horrified.

“Juno, we  _ must  _ do something about those bones,” he declared.

“Why? They do their job, just get kinda sore when it’s humid.”

Peter raised his eyebrows in alarm. “Juno. It is always humid here.”

Juno shrugged. “That’s how it is.” Peter made a noise of exasperation and decided to do something about it. Rita scuttled down the tree; Skyler unbuttoned nemself and crawled backward off the branch and down the tree, and Fog monkey-barred across the branch they had been hanging from.

“Alright!” announced Fog. “We’re going to the diner for dinner, because Skyler just sold twenty bucks worth of lamps for five hundred and  _ we _ are  _ out _ of  _ meat _ . Let’s hustle, it’s gettin’ to rain.”

 

“Juno.”

“Nureyev?”

“I wonder, is there a standard species of Hyperion Nightcrawler, or are there variations, like birds?” Juno stared at Peter, and put his spoon back in his chowder. Juno turned his head to the other side of the booth. Skyler, mashed in the corner, looked up from neir chicken and waffles and elbowed Fog in the side. Fog glanced sharply at Juno.

“I ain’t answerin’ this one, Juno, I am fighting a losing war,” they declared, unsuccessfully defending their tuna melt from Rita, and losing half of it. Juno sighed, and took a bracing spoonful of chowder.

“Alright, well. I guess you could say there are variations in, um. Fabric? Is it flesh…?”

“Nah, it’s fabric,” confirmed Skyler, mouth full of mac’n cheese. Peter went “hm!” and speared a clam. In retaliation, Juno stole a whole twirl of pasta.

“Anyway,” he said, chewing on noodles, “Nightcrawlers come in a few colors. Fog here has some patched up ones in their yard.”    

“Yea! They’re like big flower pots, one has flowers, the other has herbs. The one with th’ herbs has legs and boots comin’ outta the bottom of its skirt. When I sprinkle ‘em they dance, it’s real cute.” Peter blinked.

“I’d like to see that.”

“Then come by in the morning before showtime.”

“Oh oh! I seen some too!” cried Rita, sliding a bit of her lasagne on Fog’s plate. “In velvet disco pants! It was durin’ the last full moon, when Fog was just blastin’ disco on the midnight show.” Skyler laughed, and choked when Fog stuck a melon chunk in neir mouth. “They were just paradin’ and boogieing down Main street like it was the catwalk!”

“Rita, what the hell were you doing on Main street at midnight?” asked Juno.

“Oh I was just— none of ya business boss! Finish ya chowder before I do!” Rita was not one to make threats lightly, and Juno wisely went hunting for potato chunks.

“Velvet and patchwork Nightcrawlers, whatever will we come to next!” exclaimed Peter.

“You ain’t seen nothing Nureyev.” Skyler pointed neir fork at him, waffle speared upon it. “Sometimes they come in  _ slacks _ . And they’re  _ grumpy _ . Walk around the neighborhood all hunched over, like they’re hardboiled detectives or something.” Peter covered his mouth to hide a laugh, glancing at Juno. Juno said nothing but stole half a chicken breast from Skyler, who squawked in mock outrage. Unable to keep it in any longer, Peter burst out laughing which naturally, set everyone else laughing too.

Underneath the awning of the diner, bathed in pink light, a little, black, two-legged shape danced in the rain around a black cat with a question mark tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this came out so late! This story came from a picture and a 10 line spitfic, and the rest was inspired by how I am constantly humid. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	24. Alice de Wees

“HEY! _HEY_ ! NUREYEV WAKE UP I _KNOW_ YOU’RE IN THERE!” someone pounded on the door. Peter threw off the covers, pulled the knife out from under his pillow and ran downstairs, Juno on his tail, gun in hand. Juno pushed Peter to the side and banged open the door to confront whoever was making such a _damn_ racket first thing in the morning, in the _rain_ on a _Sunday_ no less.

“Geez, _finally_ — hang on, _you’re_ not who I’m looking for,” scowled a girl on his front step. She was thin and young, dressed like a biker in a leather jacket and pants. Her hair, and this was the only way to describe it, cupped her face like long, brown hands. Juno wondered what the hell was up with weird girls showing up on his front step in the rain. Peter peeked around Juno and sighed, sticking the knife in the waistband of his briefs. The girl brightened. “Hey! Nureyev! It’s you!”

"Yes, it’s me. Oh, Alice, _what_ are you doing here? Juno, she’s an acquaintance, can she come in? She’s harmless.” The girl scowled and muttered “I can kick anyone’s ass.” “I’m sure you could,” said Peter, “but right now you’re wet. So.” Juno rolled his eyes. Trust _Peter_ to be the reason there was another wet girl on his doorstep. He followed them both to the kitchen. Peter considered and Alice looked at him.

“What am I going to do with you, Alice?” he asked her. She huffed a laugh and sat herself at the table uninvited.

“Maybe start with pants?”

“In my own home? The very idea. But for you, I’ll oblige. Juno, could you get coffee?”

“What? No, first you’re gonna explain to me who the hell this is and what the hell is going on, Nureyev.” Peter, in his underwear with a knife in his waistband, kissed Juno and held his face.

“I will, I promise, but I’m going to need clothes first, alright darling?”

Juno grumbled assent. “I still don’t want her in my kitchen alone.” As if on cue, somebody rapped on the front door and walked in, announcing themselves.

“Juno, N’reyev, it’s me! I heard a ruckus and thought you might need something! There’s a Dodge Charger at the garage, what’s that about! I brought apple pie!” Fog Burns walked into the kitchen sockfooted, having the decency to leave their wet boots out on the step, Skyler half-asleep in tow.

“Fantastic timing. Fog, this is Alice, we’ll be right back, please watch her? Thank you.” And Peter, Juno in hand, dashed back to their room before Alice could shout “Hey! I’m not some kid!”

“Don’t take it personal,” advised Fog, sliding the pie onto the table and Skyler into a chair. “How old’re you, Alice?” they asked, going through Juno’s cupboards for coffee and cups. Alice considered answering. She leaned her head on her hand and watched Fog move around the kitchen for a moment. Skyler dozed on the table.

“Have we… met before?” asked Alice, swatting the question to the side.

“What now?”

“Your voice. I’ve heard it somewhere…”

Fog laughed. “Maybe! When did you come in?”

“I drove through last night around midnight.”

“Thought so. This is Fog Burns, signing off!”

“That was _you_ ? _You’re_ Fog Burns? You sure don’t look it.”

“What else am I s’posed to look like? A hat?”

Skyler, awake now, propped neir chin on the table, ever ready to pump the local radio show. “Yeah-huh that’s Fog Burns, Voice of Hyperion Fog, ten twenty on the radio dial.”

Fog turned the coffee machine on. “Oh, stop it.”

“It’s the local show. Sometimes, instead of _sleeping_ like they _should_ , this dork does a midnight show. It’s got no name, but I personally call it Midnight Musings with Fog Burns.”

“That’s a terrible name,” said Alice, deadpan.

“Oh, I know, but nobody listens anyway. Except newcomers, looks like. And sometimes me.”

"You listen?” exclaimed Fog, mortified.

"Of course? It’s my house too?”

“Everything alright down here? No deaths?” asked Peter, now clothed and brushed, as one should be when guests are present. Juno followed, still grumpy, but that was to be expected when a stranger thumped on your door at seven in the morning on a rainy Sunday.

“Yes death! I’ve been mortified in my own home!”

"This is my place, Fog,” Juno pointed out, taking a cup of coffee. Fog keened and covered their face. Skyler rolled neir eyes.

"Peter, you know how you heard Fog’s midnight show when you showed up? Well Fog’s having the apoplexy because turns out I listen to it too, and Alice heard it on the air. Also, Alice just roasted them. Seems to me like you can pretty much guess when a newcomer’s comin’ in by when Fog gets the urge to broadcast at piss in the morning.”

"Skyler!” exclaimed Fog, putting the coffee pot on the table.

"The midnight show? Oh,” mused Juno, getting a knife and plates. Fog looked at Juno with extreme caution. “I used to listen to it too when I couldn’t sleep.”

 _"_ _What?_ ” Fog screamed.

"Fog,” said Peter patiently, “why broadcast something you don’t want people to hear? Why not just record it?” Fog threw up their hands and left the room in a huff, Skyler laughing them out of the room.

"That weenie, they’ll get killed someday,” concluded Skyler. Alice looked around, amused. Fog walked back in, pretending to be furious. They sat down and started dishing out apple pie.

"Pie for breakfast?” Alice asked Peter. He shrugged. Fog looked at Alice, indignant.

"What, you want to go to the diner? In this weather? My show in less than two hours?” Fog demanded. “The audacity! Here, Peter, dish out plates please.” Alice snickered; this kid was an idiot. Funny though.

 

"So,” began Peter after the dishes were washed and dried, courtesy of Alice and Skyler. “This is Alice de Wees. She —”

"I’m a vamp hunter,” interrupted Alice. Peter closed his mouth. Juno narrowed his eyes. “I’m from New Orleans, same as Nureyev, I guess you guys know by now. Or haven’t you told them?” lilted Alice. “Grandmama Laveau told me to come find you, by the way.”

Peter looked as exasperated as a man like him could get. “Yes, Alice, they know where I’m from and how I got here. How did you find me?”

"Oh, Grandmama told me she gave you a gris-gris, but she spelled it to find you if you stopped for more than two weeks at a time.”

"Like dowsing?” interjected Skyler.

"Kind of. No, actually, yeah, it’s dowsing.”

"Is this the same Laveau that was your neighbor, Nureyev?” guessed Juno.

"The very same. Miss de Wees is her granddaughter, a witch in her own right, you might say. And apparently she’s become a vampire hunter while I was gone.”

"Yep! Got a few under my belt already.”

"I see. What did your grandmother want that she sent you all the way across the country to find me?”

"I have a list. First, she wants you to call her so she knows you’re okay. Then, she wants to know if you’re settled down and want your stuff. I guess you can call her and say so yourself. Basically, just call her and tell her how you’re doing.”

"Alice.”

"Yeah?”

"You drove all the way here from New Orleans to tell me to call your grandmother?”

 _"_ _Yeah?_ You didn’t send a letter but you were still alive, she got worried!”

"I suppose it _is_ my fault. Alright, I’ll call her. Is it the same address?”

"Yup.”

"Well, thank you for coming, Alice. I… don’t suppose you’re staying?”

"Hell yeah I’m staying!” retorted Alice, getting up. “I drove five days to get here, I’m gonna take a vacation!” Peter made a face. Juno’s eyes widened. He shook his head slowly, mouthing ‘no’. Alice rolled her eyes. “I’m broke so I can’t afford a motel, but don’t worry, I’ll sleep in my car.”

"She can stay with us!” blurted Fog, hands fisted in their patchwork skirt. Peter looked at them, pained smile on his face. Clearly, the man hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night.

"That’s kind of you Fog, but she _is_ my acquaintance.”

"Consider it a favor for letting me use your kitchen,” they suggested, taking their empty pie tin and Alice by the hand. “No trouble, we have the space.” Skyler looked at Fog, eyebrows raised. Where they were going to dig up this space was a mystery to nem. It was still pouring outside, so after saying goodbye, Fog, Skyler, and now Alice, made a mad dash across the street to the garage.

"Woof! You guys live here?” Alice asked, looking around the garage. Skyler, helping Alice get her things out of the trunk of her Dodge, snorted. Fog rolled their eyes.

"Sure, I live here, under the garage sink. Skyler lives in a hammock hooked to the frame machine.” They unlocked the side door and went in. “Well, come on in,” they called. “Welcome to the home base. Leave your boots on the mat.” Alice walked in and looked around. The garage door was next to the stairs that gave into a hall with a long green carpet on the floor. A peeling but immense cabinet lined the wall opposite the stairs, and at the end the hall was the living room, in which Alice could see a supremely patchworked couch. At the other end of the hall was the front door. An antique mirror hung next the coat stand, which currently held a few potted plants.

"This place is a dump,” she decided. Skyler barked out a laugh behind her and cackled neir way to the kitchen, taking the pie tin out of Fog’s hands. Fog, standing still in the middle of the hall, spun around on their heel. Mildly exasperated, they leaned on the bannister and looked fixedly at Alice. Alice, never one to be intimidated, stared them right back and dropped her bag on the floor.

"I don’t know how to answer you, Alice,” began Fog, “because… hm.” Fog furrowed their brows and put their face in their hand, mind going miles an hour. Alice raised an eyebrow. “How about that…” mused Fog. Without another word, they left, heading for the station. Skyler poked neir head out of the living room, and waited until Fog disappeared into the recesses of the house. Ne beckoned to Alice. She hoisted her bag and joined nem.

"Why are there clowns in your planters outside?” she asked.

 _"_ _What?_ ” cried Skyler, aghast. “There are? What’re they doing?”

"Nothing, just sitting there.” Skyler dropped onto the couch in relief; Alice sat down next to nem, and looked around the living room. On every wall hung little mirrors and portraits of… well, Alice couldn’t really tell. The subjects looked a little bit like lettuce, a little bit like pigs. Potted plants sat on shelves all around and on the windowsills, peopled in between by little knickknacks.

"Is that an eggplant pepper shaker?”

"Uh-huh.”

"What is this, an antique shop?”

Skyler laughed. “That’s next door, I own it.”

"You own an antique shop?” demanded Alice skeptically.

"Sure do! That’s kinda why this place looks like ‘a dump’, as you said. We make do.”

"Huh,” said Alice. Skyler leaned neir back against the arm of the couch.

"I don’t know exactly what happened to Fog just there,” ne continued, “but they’ll come back and explain themselves. It’s nothing spooky.” Alice tilted her head at Skyler.

"I don’t mean to be rude.” Skyler lifted eyebrows at her, which Alice ignored. “But can I get a shower? It’s been a few days.” Skyler smacked neir forehead.

"Sure, sorry, my bad. Get some clothes, I’ll get you a towel. Follow me.” Ne took her upstairs.

"This is the upstairs. That’s Fog’s room, and that’s mine, right next to it. Have a look later, I want you to hear Fog’s show first,” said Skyler, glancing behind nem and seeing Alice peek into neir room. “This is the bathroom, here’s a towel, mind the plants, if you hear them say stuff, you’re not hallucinating. Sorry for rushing you,” Skyler apologized from the doorway, “but I really want you to hear Fog’s show.” And ne shut the door on Alice. Huh, was all she thought.

 

"Oh, hey! Gimme your towel, I’ll hang it up for you. You’re just in time,” said Skyler, rushing around the cluttered kitchen where Alice found nem.

"You’re pretty comfortable around strangers, aren’t you,” realized Alice.

"You get used to things fast, living here,” replied Skyler, hanging her towel on a chair and shuffling through the pantry for a kettle. “If I blinked at every weird thing around here, I might as well just keep my eyes shut. Turn the radio on, will ya? Thanks.” Alice opened her mouth to ask questions, but was beat to it by Fog.

"Gooooood morning Hyperion, Washington! You're listening to Hyperion Fog, 10.20 on the radio dial. I’d say something about the weather, but it’s just the usual: pouring rain and kinda chilly. My hair is frizzing like you won’t believe, and it ain’t fetching on me like it is on Miz Rita. She and Juno’re the only folks who can pull it off. Augh! Can’t keep my mind on things t’day, all cause’a one damn person. Better get right to it before my head gets blown clean off my shoulders. There’s a newcomer in town folks, a Miss Alice de Wees. Showed up not two hours ago banging on Juno’s door and raising hell. Woke me right up all the way across the street she was goin’ at it. An acquaintance of Mister Mystery’s, so he says, but she’s stayin’ at the station just b’cause. And… aw, sakes! I can’t stand it. Brace yourselves listeners, I’m gonna talk real fast _right now_ b’cause I keep forgettin’ what I wanna say. I think Miss Alice is a siren or some such b’cause every time I think of her or try speakin’ to her my entire mind just _wipes_ and I lose my entire train of thought an’ it’s supremely bad on account I do all the thinkin’ in this house and Miss Alice I know yer listenin’ b’cause yer in my kitchen or somewhere and Skyler always has the radio on it ain’t yer fault I didn’ answer you on the stair it’s ‘cause I couldn’t think no more alright I’m sorry and I’m done! Whew! I haven’t had to talk that fast since that auction in ’58. Good thing I talk for a living, exercise for th’pipes.

"Okay, it’s a good thing I wrote all my notes last night on account I really can’t catch no thought today. Yeesh! And this ain’t me bein’ lovestruck neither! No, this is somethin’ of the Hyperion way. Not normal, thas what. Well, it’ll figure itself out. That’s all I wanted to say on the subject, I figure you all will see her in town, listeners, I don’t think she’s leavin’ in this pouring rain. Speakin’ of the rain, it made the clowns sprout early in the planters this year…”

Skyler looked at Alice in triumph. “See? Toldja they’d answer your questions. And that it wasn’t no slight to you, Alice.” Skyler looked at her for a moment, and refilled her cup, pushing a brass bear figurine out of the way. “Alice.”

'Yeah?”

 _"_ _Are_ you a siren or something?” Alice stirred her tea, letting Skyler stew. The rain dripped, tapping on the doorstep, melding with the sound of Skyler tapping on the table.

"Or something,” she said finally, smiling into her pine needle tea. Skyler rolled neir eyes, smiling. Of course someone like _Alice_ would show up in Hyperion.

"Is Fog usually like this?” she asked.

"Like this, specifically? No, not really. They’re stupid, but Fog’s a double Virgo. Weirder than most, I’ll give you that. Get indigestion all the time.” Skyler gestured at Alice. “It’s the effect of your aura, I bet, that their brain left them.”

"My… aura.”

"I _guess_ , I’m no expert in the paranormal. Nureyev is, let’s ask him later.”

 

“… And so that’s why your meringue won’t rise. If you can’t find cream of tartar, use lemon juice, but the best would just be to use a copper bowl. I don’t know why it does, but meringue stiffens good in a copper bowl. Thank you! Also, listeners, it’s the season of those flying skulls with wings that have napkins coming out of the bottom. If you see one, treat it like you would a possum or some other critter, but keep it outta the house. They eat wood. That’s all I have for today, fair winds and following seas!” Fog turned off their equipment and dropped their head over the back of their chair, exhaling. Half-heartedly, they made their way to the kitchen.

"So you think I’m supernatural?” was the first thing Alice said to them. Fog moved a stack of potholders and dropped onto a chair.

"Seems to be that way. Where you gon’ sleep?”

"The couch,” Alice answered automatically. Fog nodded, and mumbled something about quilts. That table sat in silence for a moment, listening to the water rushing out the gutter. Fog sighed and got up.

"Where ya going?”

"Groceries. Wanna come?” Skyler shook neir head vigorously and pulled a shawl over neir shoulders, the one that hung out of the bowl cupboard.

"It’s a stay-inside-and-tinker kind of day,” ne announced, and headed for neir workshop. Alice watched after nem, and looked at the leaves at the bottom of her cup. Vaguely, it resembled a crescent moon.

"I’ll come with you,” announced Alice. Fog sat on the corner of the table, and folded their hands in their lap. Alice waited for them to speak; Fog opened and closed their mouth a few times, getting more and more annoyed. They clapped their hands to their face.

"Alice. De Wees. Don’t come if y’don’t wanna.” Alice snorted and rolled her eyes, getting up to put her cup in the sink.

"But I do wanna. Why wouldn’t I wanna check out his weird old town my guy Nureyev got himself into?” Fog shrugged, as if to say ‘your loss’ and ‘no idea’ and hopped off the table.

"Got boots?”

"Yeah.”

"Raincoat?”

"No.”

"Take mine. Skyler!” shouted Fog. “Where’s your umbrella!” Something thumped from the closet under the stairs, and Fog pulled out the umbrella. “Les’ go.”

 

 _"_ _Will you watch where you’re going_!” hissed Fog, pulling Alice back by the collar. She’d almost walked into a shelf of buckshot.

"Who’s that?” said Alice instead, gesturing with a bottle of salt. Fog peeked over her shoulder.

"Lacy O’Mara. She works by the lake. I s’pose y’know all about the supernatural, so I can tell ya that she’s some kinda water spirit.” Alice’s mouth went ‘o’ and she shook Fog’s wrist.

"Does she —”

"Ask her and find out! Just don’ make a fool of yerself, we’re in public and I have a reputation.” Alice looked Fog up and down, skeptical. Fog gently tugged at her hair, and brought Alice to their level.

"Nureyev says you’re okay,” they whispered, “but I’m a radio host. I make my own opinions.” With that, Fog pushed Alice in the direction of Lacy O’Mara before Alice could protest. And before she knew it, it was too late.

"Oh, h’lo. I haven’t seen you before.” Lacy O’Mara spoke with a lilting tilting voice. Her skin was a little grey and scaly, and under her red hat, her hair was a little green. All that swimming, she would say to people who were not of Hyperion.

"Yeah, um, I showed up this morning.”

"I heard! You m’st be Al-ice De Wees. Nice to meet you!”

Once Fog saw that Alice was properly flustered, they went on to finish the groceries and ran smack into Juno Steel.

"Oh sorr — oh, Juno.” Juno gave them a once over.

"You have something to say. If it’s about that girl, take it up with Nureyev, she’s _his_ acquaintance,” Juno muttered. Fog blinked.

"Y’think somethin’s up with her?” they wondered. Juno snorted and picked up a box of saltines.

"I’m a detective, I _know_ something’s up.” Fog nodded absently and realized simultaneously that one of their socks was inside out and their luck had run out for the day.

"Where’s Nureyev?”

"He went to run paper errands. Where’s Skyler?”

"Tinkering, so ne said. I think—” Fog jerked as Alice shot out from behind the jams.

"I’m going on a date,” she announced. “Hey Juno.” Juno gave her a nod.

"You what? Now?” Fog had never seen anyone get a date so fast.

"Yeah, soon as Lacy buys her groceries. We’re going to the lake. I’ll see you whenever.”

"Oh sure bye…” Fog trailed off. Alice was already gone. Juno rubbed the back of his head.

"Good thing she’s crashing at your place,” he mused, and headed off to deal with Mick at the counter.

Fog, now alone in the spices, ran a hand down their face. _Why were Sundays so damn difficult?_

 

 _"_ _HOLY SHIT_! Nureyev! Would you mind knocking?” cried Skyler. Peter shrugged nonchalantly and dropped into a chair.

"Is it my fault you have such bad hearing?” Skyler stuck neir tongue out at him. “What are you making?”

"I’m glueing gravel to my shoes because I just think it will be a really fun option.” Peter leaned over Skyler’s shoulder; sure enough, ne had a tube of glue and gravel scattered all over the place, and was methodically glueing gravel to the bottom of neir shoe.

"I… see.”

"Uh-huh, and I’m making a pair for Rita too, except hers are gonna be rhinestones, so she can flash whoever she wants but in the best way, so she says. Anyway, what d’you want?” Skyler asked, spinning around on neir stool. Peter sighed deeply, so deeply that Skyler raised neir eyebrows. “That bad, huh?”

"Skyler, I… need your help.” Skyler’s eyebrows shot even higher.

"You? Need _my_ help? How bad even is this business?”

"To put it lightly, it’s not good at all.” Skyler whistled, and Peter, ever the picture of elegance, dropped his head over the back of the chair. “Alice isn’t here just because her grandmother told her to. I called Madame Laveau, and she gave me some bad news.” Peter raised his head. “Alice is dying.”

"She what.”

"She’s cursed, Skyler, so she’s dying. Or at least, she will be, if the curse isn’t lifted soon.” Skyler’s face drained of blood.

To the residents of Hyperion, death and dying were nothing to cry and scream about; people passed, you mourned, then it was business as usual. There was no time for being sentimental when bears were in the yard. In fact, most made profit off of death: Hyperion was rife with hunters and fishermen, and the Penumbra motel doubled as a funeral home out of the lobby. Skyler’s own business as an antiquarian depended on gleanings and leavings from the dead, sometimes the living. But death by curse was a whole different story entirely. Every child in Hyperion knew four things by the age of five: their numbers, their letters, how to stay safe in the woods, and to never take off their talismans. Curses were feared in Hyperion — there was a class on curse protection at the library every Friday night (from Beginner to Advanced) — and with good reason! A body cursed, once in the ground, would wreak havoc on a ten-mile radius, amplifying the population’s bad luck for a week to some years, depending on the strength and purpose of the curse.

"Have you told Juno though?”

"Not yet, he went to the store before I called Madame Laveau, not twenty minutes ago.” Peter crossed a leg over the other, and Skyler sat criss-cross on neir stool. “So this curse of hers. I don’t know the specifics, but it’s quite the complicated curse! Very intricate, I’d like to know who came up with it. Essentially what it does is put whoever is with Alice alone for longer than ten minutes in mortal danger, say a freak accident, so that Alice must save them and get terribly hurt in the process. She’s a Leo with a hero’s complex, it’s quite efficient. As I said, quite the convoluted process, and the collateral damage is extraordinary for a curse. I went to the library after I dropped off the mail and —” Peter startled as Skyler shot up off of neir stool, eyes wild and filled with dread.

"FOG WENT WITH ALICE ALONE TO THE STORE!” ne shouted. A moment of stillness, then both Peter and Skyler shot out of the workshop and were in Peter’s car in a heartbeat.

"Juno went to the store too, damn! _Why_ didn’t I call sooner!”

"Hope his legendary suspiciousness kept him away,” joked Skyler. At Peter’s glance, ne fell silent, and held tighter to door handle. It wasn’t a very long drive to the general store, but Peter made a three minute drive in one. He screeched to a stop in front; both he and Skyler got out of the car just as Juno and Fog exited the store, chatting as normal.

"You’d think — Nureyev? Nureyev, what’s wrong?” Juno rushed over to Peter, who immediately took Juno’s face in his hands.

"How long were you alone with Alice?” he demanded. Juno frowned and wrenched his face out of Peter’s grip.

"I wasn’t, she was with Fog and Lacy O’Mara the whole time. Nureyev, what the hell’s going on?” Peter sighed in relief.

"Get in the car, Juno. I’ll tell you in private.” Juno’s eyes slid sideways. “Meaning, limited to those who don’t aren’t involved in the situation. Quickly, I’d rather be off before things get any worse.” He ushered them into the car, groceries and all.

"Nureyev? What’s happenin’?” Fog had a bad feeling. Peter related the whole affair of the curse, and Fog blanched. Juno muttered “I knew it.” “NUREYEV!” screamed Fog.The car swerved slightly.

 _"_ _Please!_ Fog! Do not yell in the car!”

"Sorry but Nureyev you have to turn around! It’s an emergency, please!”

"Certainly but why? Where are we going?”

"To the lake! Alice went out with Lacy O’Mara, she’s in big trouble!” Peter Nureyev executed the tightest three-point turn anyone had ever seen and sped in the direction of the lake. Juno whistled, and Peter smiled the smallest bit.

"But _Fog_ !” shouted Skyler. “Why aren’t you worried about yourself! _You’ve got the curse too_!” Fog’s eyes widened, then they thought about it.

"No I don’t,” they announced calmly. “If I get what Nureyev’s sayin’ right, then I’m okay. I realized right after Alice left that I had a sock inside out. That’s good luck y’know, ’til you realize it. So it counteracted, right?” The car itself seemed to sag in relief.

"Yes, that’s right. From what I understand about this curse specifically, you saved yourself by a hair, Fog.” They grinned. Juno looked grim.

"Nureyev, how do we break the curse?”

"We can’t, I’m afraid.”

"Like hell we can’t! The O’Mara girl’s probably out on the lake right now —”

“Juno, Juno, I mean to say that either Alice must break it herself or something stronger than the curse dealer must do it for her. I told you, I don’t know the specifics, but this isn’t some neighbor’s curse!” He turned onto the dirt road that led to the lake. “It can’t be broken by some folk magic, this one aims to kill. We’re here, everyone out!” Fog fell out of the car and ran out onto the dock, screaming at the top of their lungs, Juno on their heels.

“ _ALICE! GET OFF TH’LAKE! YOU’LL KILL HER_!”

“ _LACY! GET OUTTA THE BOAT, SHE’LL KILL YOU_!” shouted Juno. Peter was right behind him. Fumbling, he yanked something out from under his shirt and shoved it in Juno’s hand; Juno threw it as hard as possible towards the boat. Alice and Lacy jumped and turned towards the shouting just as whatever Juno had flung landed in the boat. Then it caught fire.

 

Alice de Wees, “the Orphan Lion”, was an act-first-think-later kind of girl. That is, when she felt like thinking at all. So when the Countess of the coven of Croÿ had cursed her with “a Greek hero’s fortune until she fell”, she’d scoffed and staked the Countess through her mattress. “Guess you’re down for the count huh, Countess?” she’d snickered, then torched the place. Her grandmother though, was not so happy.

“Fool child! Now you gon’ got y’self cursed to high heaven!” Alice’s grandmother had tried everything she knew to break Alice’s curse, Alice suffering it good-naturedly. Eventually, Madame Laveau had thrown up her hands. “Can’t do nothin’ for ya child. This curse beyond human hands, you messin’ with the spirits now.” Madame Laveau figured the curse down to its key components, and decided the only solution was to send her granddaughter across the land. “I can’t help ya, so maybe someone less attached to the human world can. Find a man here,” she’d instructed Alice, pointing to where the dowsing pendulum swung. Thus Alice left New Orleans with a dowsing map of an aura, leaving misfortune and accidents in her wake.

This though, this was the first time she’d been on fire in the middle of water before. And being an act-first-think-later kind of girl, she’d grabbed whatever Juno had launched then thrown herself at Lacy and the both of them overboard; Alice shut her eyes on impact and hoped for the best. Rushing water filled her ears, and long waves of hair rushed past her face. For a little while they sunk, Alice hoping she hadn’t killed them both. Hands squeezed the sides of her jacket and rubbed up and down her arms. That was when Alice realized she was upright in the water but not moving; her eyes snapped open.

Lacy O’Mara, red hat still firmly on her head, grinned at Alice, holding her by the arms. Alice looked downwards, and noticed simultaneously that Juno had thrown her an empty bottle of Hire’s Root Beer, and Lacy had a fish tail. Lacy let go of Alice and shot herself at the boat, overturning the fire into the lake. Before Alice could float up, Lacy encircled her waist and hoisted the both of them to the surface.

"Woo!” said Lacy, shaking her head. Alice coughed and spluttered. “Thank you for the exciting time Alice, I gotta say! S’not everyday a boat sets itself on fire in a lake. You good?” Alice nodded, shook the hair out of her face and waved at the docks, where a small figure dropped to the floor and a larger figure started shouting intelligibly.

"I bet that’s Fog.”

"And I bet that’s Juno, who’s shoutin’ like he’s at a baseball game.” Alice turned her face towards Lacy, getting a faceful of hair.

"Do you guys have baseball in Hyperion?” asked Alice, muffled. Giggling, Lacy started swimming towards the docks.

"We do! The Hyperion Hellraisers. It’s the Little League baseball team, and o’course they play every game besides. Mostly fifth-graders, some sixth and seventh-graders. There’s a game tomorrow night, d’you wanna go with me? That is, if you like baseball.” Alice blinked water out of her eyes.

"Let me get dry and I’ll get back to you.”

"No fires next time, please.”

"Oh for sure.”

 

Peter took both of Alice’s outstretched hands and pulled her out of the water, water streaming behind. Skyler, wheezing with laughter at the sight of her, threw a towel at Alice.

"Uh-oh, it must be Leo season!” Ne slapped neir knee, guffawing. Juno, on his hands and knees at the edge of the dock, glared at nem.

"Mind keeping it down, I’m trying to have a conversation here. Loud enough as it is, waves an’ all…” Juno went back to his conversation, Lacy holding herself up on the dock.

"Alice, honestly. Did you not think that you might put other people in danger? Why didn’t you tell me about the curse before you put Fog and Lacy in danger?” Peter admonished.

Alice rolled her eyes under the towel. “Curses aren’t real Nureyev.”

 _"_ _Like hell they aren’t_!” shouted Juno, Skyler and Fog all at once. Peter looked pointedly at her.

"There’s not much coincidence in Hyperion, Alice, but even the powers that be wouldn’t be so obvious as to set a fire in the middle of the lake. That was you. Speaking of which…” Peter drew back from her. Alice rolled her eyes again and opened her mouth.

"Don’t worry about the curse anymore,” Juno interrupted. “It’s taken care of.”

"What? How? By who? Juno, did _you_ —”

"Nuh-uh, I did.” Lacy pulled herself one-handed onto the dock, rattling the root beer bottle. “How ‘bout I explain elsewhere? Not at the docks.”

Fog, who had just swept, refused to have anyone in the house. Juno, who had not swept, also refused to have anyone in the house. So it was in front of the garage — Peter and Rita sitting in the truck bed, Juno and Lacy in the lawn chairs, and Fog, Alice and Skyler on the picnic blanket — that Lacy explained what she’d done to the curse.

"So as you know, you can bust a curse by two ways: break it y’self, or have somethin’ _really_ strong break it for you. Juno told me in the grocery store that somethin’ was up with you, Alice, no offense.” Alice glared at Juno, who stared back deadpan. “And he said since I was the ‘most likely’ critter in town, whatever that means, would I please keep an eye on you.”

Juno rolled his eyes. “Sure, just go blab all my secrets in public why dontcha.”

"Will do! I was gonna ask you out on a date Alice, but you beat me to it! Everythin’ worked out well.”

"Worked out well?” Fog leaned over and smacked Lacy on the knee. “I owe somebody a boat in money now!”

"No you don’t, I do,” said Alice.

"Neither of you do, because that was my rowboat and it was due for it anyway,” said Lacy.

"But how in the world did you break the curse?” asked Peter.

"But Mister Mystery, I did not!” Peter sat upright. “I took it from Alice and shoved it in the glass bottle Juno threw! I’ll get rid of it soon.”

"How —”

"Glass traps psychic energy Mista Nureyev!” chimed in Rita. “It’s why churches got stained windows and stuff, keeps ya safe.”

"RIta, that is _not_ why churches have stained glass windows.”

"Yeah it is boss! I asked the guy who came to my door the other day tryna get me to join his church and —”

"That was a cult, Rita.”

"She is right you know, Juno,” mused Peter. “Glass does trap psychic energy, I read that in a book somewhere. It must be in the stack I checked out from the library.” Juno sighed, defeated yet again. “How will you get rid of it, Lacy?”

"Oh thas easy! I’ll dissolve it in water then drink it down, like Alka Seltzer.” Juno sat up out of his chair.

"You what.” Lacy pat him on the knee.

"Don’t worry about it, Mister Steel, I’m the merrow of Hyperion Lake. Hyperion might be a little far from the Old Country, but the energy’s mostly the same. What was it that got you, Alice?”

"Oh, um. A vampire.” Rita and Skyler snickered. “Vampires aren’t funny!” Lacy laughed behind her hands.

"You gotta admit Alice, they are kinda funny. All that power, but you can kill them with sunshine? That’s half a day lost sleepin’! Anyway, I’m more powerful than any vamp,” Lacy sighed happily, settling back in her chair, “and much nicer.”

"Cheers to that!” added Fog. Skyler lifted an imaginary champagne flute. Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"And here I was worried that we would have to deal with earth-shattering cataclysm.”

"You? Worried? Not possible.” Juno shook his head. “No.” Lacy snickered and clicked her fingers on the bottle.

"How’d you figure to throw this bottle, Mister Steel?”

"I didn’t, Nureyev gave it to me.”

"Uh-huh. Did’na peg ya for the root beer type, Mister Mystery.” Peter’s gazed innocently at the garage frame.

"Oh, you know, we all have our vices…”

"You!” Skyler had been eyeing the bottle for a while now, and shot up to neir feet. “ _You_! You’re the one who’s been swiping the antique bottles from the front window, aren’t you! And here I thought it was Fog!” Fog let their head drop back, not too surprised by the accusation. It had proven true at times.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Skyler. I recall saying I needed your help.”

"What kinda desperate measures call for the swiping of fifteen glass pop bottles?”

"Wouldja look at the time,” interrupted Juno, standing. “It’s almost three, and I haven’t had lunch yet. Nureyev, care to join me?”

"Forget lunch, it’s naptime! I haven’t been so scared for life since ’56!” protested Fog. Juno squinted at them.

"You were a baby in ’56.”

"Don’t mean I wasn’t scared of wasps then either! Alice.” Fog stood up, and took Alice’s hands. “Don’t take this mean, but I don’t want you in my house anymore. I’ve had enough of these New Orleans high jinks and carrying-ons. One wild man from Louisiana is enough.”

"Oh! Really! Then can I have her, Fog? That is, if that’s alright with you Alice.” Fog and Alice, hand in hand, turned their heads towards Lacy O’Mara, merrow of Hyperion Lake.

"You don’t mind?” Alice asked.

"Course not! Sleepover! And you can sweep the floor in exchange.” Fog gave Alice’s hands to Lacy. “Whatcha say?”

"Yeah! I mean, thanks.” Skyler came out of the house and gave Alice’s bags back to her.

"It was nice having ya around,” ne declared. “But it got a little much then.”

"Like you were there,” muttered Alice, rolling her eyes. Skyler elbowed her in the side.

"I suppose I’ll be seeing you around town then, Alice?” Peter extended a hand; Alice shook it.

"Bet your lingerie, Nureyev.”

"I beg your pardon.”

"Then beg! See you guys later!” Alice opened the door of her Dodge for Lacy, kissed her daringly on the cheek and took off before Peter could regain his wits. Juno shook his head.

"Wow! I wonder what New Orleans must be like to have such fast talkers?” Rita asked nobody in particular. Peter, blinking in disbelief, got out of the truck. Juno took his hand.

"C’mon Nureyev, let’s get somethin’ to eat, I’m starving.”

"…After you, detective.”

Rita watched them both go into the building across the street, and jumped out of the truck bed. “Who wants to see if I can eat five whole pies in five minutes!” she declared. Skyler hollered yes, Fog hollered no, and all three got into the truck, headed for the diner. Fog, in the truck bed, hair blowing like a fir in the wind, vowed never to let another Leo Sun Capricorn Moon into their house ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Alice de Wees, who in real life gave me an eggplant saltshaker and a brass bear that sit on my shelves and hassled me about where her story was from late June up until last week! Because she hates me and only cares about my writing when she's involved. This story written without draft or spitfic or anything, just Alice. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	25. Teratologists and company

Eating in Hyperion had always been hit-or-miss, ever since and especially during its frontier days. In those days, the settlers of Hyperion had survived on beans, tack, and wild game. And for some people, like Mose, owner of the pharmacy and a shack in the Hyperion Woods, things had not changed much over the years. The only thing that really changed was the variety of beans he could get at the general store.

Juno Steel did not mind doing the groceries; it always gave him smug satisfaction when he got entire loaves of bread for free using five different coupons. A grocery list on his end consisted of the same things: potatoes, eggs, five or so tins of coffee, pasta, and meat when a case went particularly well. Which often, it did not. When it didn’t, he survived on hot coffee and potatoes, and whatever casseroles he found on his doorstep. Or if he didn’t feel like cooking, he’d hit the diner.

“Hey Nureyev, whatcha eating?” Peter looked up in shock, piece of orange halfway to his mouth. Juno was working on a crossword at the kitchen table and twirled his pencil.

“An… orange, detective. You  _ have _ seen an orange, haven’t you?”

“Huh. Not in about… gee, must have been five years.” Juno scribbled “orange” six down, and looked up when the silence stretched; Peter gazed grimly at his orange, as if it was telling him his fortune and luck was not in his cards.

“Nureyev! I’m joking!” cried Juno. “Fog made a triple layer orange cake for Calum’s wedding just last week!” Peter raised his eyebrows and gave Juno the rest of his orange, then went to investigate the fridge. Juno shoved half the orange into his mouth.

“Juno.”

“Mm?”

“When was the last time you opened the crisper drawer?” asked Peter, tugging on said drawer. He backed up a bit and yanked for all his worth, and the drawer creaked open.

“Last time I had enough money for vegetables I guess, which would be… a few months back,” Juno said with his mouth full. Peter slammed the drawer and the fridge shut.

“Juno, put your shoes on, we are going to the store.” Juno put down his pencil down and swallowed.

“Nureyev, dunno if you’ve noticed, but that last case didn’t go so hot.”

“Well it’s not  _ your _ fault your client died, that’s what happens when a person is a hundred and three years old. Besides, that has nothing to do with having a lack of fresh produce in your fridge,” declared Peter, halfway into his coat. Juno snorted and folded his newspaper.

“What am I gonna buy fruit with, cat hair? I can’t  _ afford _ it, Nureyev.”

“You could, if you stopped spending your money on cheap whiskey.”

“Ah.” Juno averted his gaze, and could feel Peter’s boring into him. “Still don’t have any cash though,” he said to the couch. Peter sighed, and held out Juno’s coat to him.

“Well, good thing one of us does, at least. Oh, don’t you go thinking that a kiss will fix everything!”

“But did it?”

“Yes, it did, now get moving.”

 

The general store, because it serviced mostly small-town-rough-living folks, did not keep a wide variety of fruit. Peter Nureyev, the first time he’d walked into the general store, had cast an eye around and decided then and there to do his grocery shopping elsewhere. Which was why he had driven Juno all the way to a roadside market for fruit.

“Dammit, Nureyev, why’d we have to come all the way to Forks? This place is terrible,” grumbled Juno, stepping out of the car. He burrowed deeper into his trenchcoat; the wind was blowing hard this

“You would have preferred Chehalis? Need I remind you what lives there?” Juno snorted and got out of the car.

“Yeah, yokels.” Peter chuckled and locked the door. They had parked near what declared itself as a farmer’s market, but was more closely related to a jumble sale of vegetation, edible and otherwise.

“Well, there was that one man…”

“Nureyev, I’ll say it again, werewolves don’t exist.” Juno closed his mouth as a six-foot tall man of copious facial hair walked past him in a lumberjack’s garb, and stopped in front of them.

“Steel, Nureyev, good to see you again!” boomed the man.

“How are you Elijah!” exclaimed Nureyev, surreptitiously leaning into Juno. Juno rolled his eyes and shook the man’s hand.

“Hey Smiley, what’s new.”

“Bosc and Comice pears!” Elijah fairly shouted, pumping Juno’s hand. Juno took back his hand and shook it out behind his back. “They are in season, come see!”

 

“I have pears, many, and tissue paper, much.” It was true; Elijah Smiley sat on his blanket, surrounded by his many wheelbarrows of pears and baskets of, somehow, handmade and colorful crêpe paper. Juno walked around and dropped next to Elijah, leaving Peter to pick out pears from the front.

“How’s business Smiley?” asked Juno. Elijah Smiley furrowed his brow and frowned. Peter glanced up, pears in hand.

“Not… as it should be.”

“Really!” exclaimed Peter. “But you always sell out of pears by the time market closes.” Elijah slapped his knee and shook his head; Juno leaned slightly in the opposite direction.

“No no no! The pears do good business, the crêpe paper also. Your Miss Rita comes by and depletes my stock in a speeded minute. No no, this business of pears and paper booms as ever. I mean.” Elijah looked closely at Peter, and stared him in the eyes. Peter shifted from the balls of his feet to a crouch, and stared right back. Nodding, Elijah leaned back onto his arms.

“Yes yes, the man of mystery I can trust.” Juno looked from Elijah to Peter and back.

“Wait, what? Why’d you stare him down?” Elijah contemplated Juno from the extra head of height he had.

“Juno, haven’t you heard the saying?” interjected Peter. “The eyes are the window to the soul, you know.” Elijah pointed appreciatively at Peter, who gave him his now full bag of pears to weigh. Elijah gave him the price, and added a few more for free.

“As he says, Steel. I have met this man of thrice, I cannot spill my secrets so speedily! Though some might,” added Elijah. Peter gazed at his nails, encased in gloves though they were.

“Why didn’t you stare me down then?” accused Juno.  _ Then _ Elijah laughed his booming laugh, his sideburns shaking.

“Ah, Steel, you make me laugh.” Elijah shook his head and gave Juno a pear. “Why would I need to see whether the dame of Hyperion can be trusted. If the woods let you live, then it is fine. Asides, you already  _ know _ . I s’spect some have already guessed, astutely.”  Elijah’s eyes twinkled and Juno sighed, bracing himself. “Peter Nureyev, you have guessed! I need not tell you, and I know you know, because I have good hearing, as all wolves do.” Peter’s mouth opened slightly and he gasped, eyes darting to Juno’s face. Juno groaned, and would have yelled; why wouldn’t stories in the dark just  _ stay _ in the dark? Why did they have to come out of the woods and follow him to town? Why did  _ he _ have to get caught up in all sorts of supernatural bull?

“Juno,  _ why _ must you always deny the existence of the paranormal?” Peter exclaimed exasperatedly. Juno groaned again and fell flat on his back.

“I’m hoping that if I say they don’t exist, they won’t bother me,” he admitted to the wind. Elijah angled his head and gazed into Juno’s eyes this time.

“You of all people, Steel, should know that it is not like that. That is the farthest thing from happening.” Juno shoved the palms of his hands into his eyes, burning the afterimage of purple scraggly pines into his retinas. Gloved hands set upon his own, and gently moved them away. Peter’s face blurred back into view, angles rendered harder by the harsh light of sun behind a clouded sky.

“Is it so bad, Juno? To live among the mysteries of the world?” wondered Peter. Juno looked at him, then looked down towards his stomach as he felt something light be placed upon it; Elijah, putting a crêpe paper marigold down on Juno’s gut, caught Juno’s eyes and nodded. Juno let his head thump back down, and landed instead on Peter’s hands.

“…Guess not. Could be easier though.” Peter chuckled, and it traveled down his arms through Juno’s face.

“It certainly could be! I must say I don’t enjoy running through the mud in my better heels with a child out of their mind in tow. But it does make for interesting conversation, and I’ve never had better stamina.” Juno had to admit that; running through the woods, being a ranger, he’d never been able to kill the Devil without that. Or any of the other things that’d been appearing recently…

“Nureyev,” said Juno urgently, about to roll onto his stomach and freezing as Peter reached under him to get the flower. “Are you the reason why things have gotten so creepy here lately?” Peter’s eyes widened and he froze in his crouch.

“Am I?”

“Is he?” asked Elijah, surprised. “Let me tell you first of the business in the woods you must know, and then you will deduce. Detective Steel.” Juno sat up, and Peter sat down. Elijah settled in. Pear selling was slow around three in the afternoon, so woe to anyone who asked him for a story in that time frame.

“I was a-walking the woods, th’other night, as you do. Surveying the territory, doing the rounds so to say. As you know, the woods of Hyperion are a fatality to any who do not belong, and dastardly to those who do.”

“You got that right,” muttered Juno.

“In this fair forest of ours, many roam. Wolves, beast and otherwise, as I, owls, Hide-behinds.” Juno put his hand over Peter’s mouth. “Nightcrawlers, some ghosts. The Devil once, and the Watcher sometimes. Well th’other night I was a-prowling, when I see the damndest thing. Not the Devil, Lord save our souls, but the same kinda creature, yes, the same kind,” nodded Elijah. “This was such of the same shape. I tell you how I saw it: head of crow, size of a doghouse. Body I know not what of, but it was the color of maggot and furless. And large, greasy wings coming out of the back. In size, about a barn shed.” Juno took in a shaky breath, and Peter’s glasses slipped down his nose. Elijah coughed and sniffed. “I am not a man of fear. No, I am not. Lycanthropy does not leave a person a coward. But my friends, a beast feels keener than a man. I fled as soon as it emerged from the trees. And,” Elijah shut his eyes. “I searched the woods this morning, and the monster had eaten a fellow beast.”

“You’re telling me there’s a bird monster in the woods that’s eats  _ werewolves _ ?” cried Juno. Peter smacked him on the knee,

“Come now, Juno. Surely it doesn’t  _ only _ eat werewolves. It must be carnivorous, or at least an omnivore, it  _ is _ a bird after all—”

“Smiley, I’ll take your case,” declared Juno.

“But Steel,” said Elijah. “I didn’t offer you a case.”

“Doesn’t matter. Thanks for the pears. C’mon Nureyev, let’s go.”

 

“Juno, I forbid you from taking this case on alone.”

“Just you try, Nureyev.” Juno grit his teeth. “I am  _ not _ letting anyone else in this town get eaten by some freak with teeth again.”

“Well I’m not stopping you, detective! I simply meant to say that I’ll come with you. Ah—Keep your eyes on the  _ road _ !” Juno swerved, narrowly missing the ditch. “I’ve been told that I’m quite easy on the eyes, but that’s no excuse for dangerous driving. And I am very much able to handle myself Juno, I did live in the French Quarter.”

“Isn’t that the higher-end of the city though?”

“Well, yes, but the deeper in you go… Let’s say that one summer I discovered that I could run a mile in five minutes.”

“Huh. What sent ya back there?” Peter waved a dismissive hand.

“Oh, you know. Clients. Don’t make that face, darling, I made perfume for a living! Certain… well-fed people, let’s say, don’t like showing their face in the daylight. Eyes on the  _ road _ please.” Juno made a noise of acquiescence. “In any case, Juno, I’m coming with you to affront whatever horrors are plaguing our fair town.”

“Fair town, my ass.”

“A fine one it is too!” Peter smirked as he heard a strangled noise, and flicked on the radio; it screamed to life.

“LISTENERS SOMEBODY HELP THERE’S—! SKYLER GET YOUR MECHANICAL BEASTS OUTTA HERE!”

“Fog, relax, they’re just automatons!”

“Automatons in my hair! I don’t have that much to begin with! Thank you! Geez…” Juno, in all this, had managed to keep the car in a straight line despite nearly going into cardiac arrest. Peter let go of his heart.

“Ugh… sorry listeners, for the screaming and the late broadcast. It’s been… well, I’m gonna be honest, b’cause you all can’t see how much of my hair got torn out. Things haven’t been easy! For the… since March, I think. Now, let’s not forget it wasn’t easy b’fore then either! I’m a five-foot-four full-time mechanic, that’s tirin’ in an’ of itself! But it’s gonna be December tomorrow, and I can safely say that things have really gotten a whole lot rougher since spring. Here, hang on. Miz Rita, if you’re listenin’, can you please call? Right, Miz Rita, you’re on the air! Sorry for botherin’ ya, but do you have a tally of all the wild stuff thas been happenin’ in the past… give or take seven months.” Juno and Peter shared a glance. Peter lowered the volume just in case.

“Well, let’s see! I got my list right here, some of the pages are stuck together because of jam and stuff but okay! Month of March: the Washington Devil. April, a whole buncha Nightcrawlers. And I mean a  _ whole _ bunch, an entire laundry line! May, Skyler went off to get that weird dog or whatever—”

“The Chupacabra.”

“Yeah, that! June, that monster fish in the lake. July, the Solid Dark.”

“Heaven help me! The Solid Dark! Never wanna live through somethin’ like that again.”

“August, uhh… oh yeah, that deal with the Hide-behinds! September, Foot Mosses. Two recorded cases. October, that gal Alice and her curses, plus all the other stuff that happens at Halloween. November, gee! Fog, I can’t remember having to deal with so many ghosts and geists before. The whole shebang!”

“You said it, Rita! Skyler and Mose have been scrambling all over the county trying to find enough herbs and junk to make talismans enough to ward off all the creeps that have been prowling lately. Our very own Miz Rita here mashed a ghost right in my driveway just three weeks ago. Me personally, I’ve been up to my eyes in faulty engines, on account I think the gas station is haunted. Also, I got a report that there’s another one of the Carcass Killers in the woods, which…” Peter heard the radio fizz as Fog sighed right into the microphone. “I’m liable to believe is responsible for the disappearance of one Marcus “Cogs” Orwell. My deepest condolences. As of now immediately, it’s a code red for the woods folks. I don’t know ezactly what’s in there right now, I just heard about it from the Watcher, but  _ nobody _ should be goin’ in the woods.     

“Oh and, before I forget. Rudy, the concierge at the Penumbra for those who don’t know, is really not happy right now. I mean, you couldn’t tell, but it gets cold when he ain’t happy. He, um.” The radio went silent, and Juno, eyes still on the road, reached for the dial. Peter slapped his hand away and fiddled with the dial. “Sorry listeners, sound cut out. Rudy knows I’m talkin’ about him. So: buncha hunters came through and, mm,  _ repurposed _ his morgue as a place to stick their trophies. No idea why Rudy was mad at  _ me _ ! He called me and everythin’ and the temperature in here dropped fifteen degrees; listeners, I’m tellin’ ya that I had to talk fast. An’ he told me to tell you all that he doesn’t want anybody showing up at his place. Dead or alive! Unless you’re a paying customer, in which case, he’s willing to negotiate.

“That’s all I have for today folks. I had a late start, I should really get to it. So, stay outta the woods until I get news that the coast is clear and until then, stay careful. Fair winds and following seas! Oh hey, I think Juno’s here…” Fog clicked off their recording equipment just as Juno killed the engine in front of their house. Fog met Juno and Peter at the front door, and braced their arms on either side of the doorway.

“I am  _ real _ tired with all this paranormal business.” Fog slapped the frame. “Once in a while is fine, but with all this danger, now I’m fed up. Get to the bottom of this, Juno Steel, so I don’t have to keep announcing warnings and obits. And you, Nureyev. Don’t let the dame die, please.” Fog slid past Juno, pat Nureyev on the arm and swung into the garage next door, where immediately they put up a fantastic racket that sent Juno and Peter sailing into the house. An arm waved at them from the kitchen

“Heard the news on the radio, figured now’s as good as any to get to the bottom of this.” Skyler motioned Juno and Peter to the table where Rita sat waiting, chewing on a pen and sugar cookie. The table itself was covered in newspapers, pencils, empty tins, mugs, and a top. Peter squeezed between Rita and the counter — covered in books, notes, jars, and unread mail — to make it to the chair closest to the window.

“Hi Mista Steel! Manager at the diner said I could have the day off!” Juno raised an eyebrow and put the pears on the table.

“What did you do, blow up a booth?”

“Noooo I just, kinda sorta maayybe tried to make the fryer work better?”

“Fryer’s aren’t that complicated as it is, Miss Rita!” exclaimed Peter, pouring himself a cup of tea.

“Yeah, well,  _ I _ think that if you can improve it, you should! Only…”

“Only, fries are off the menu at the diner for at least a week.” Skyler snickered and took a swig of hot tea, burning nemself and coughing. Juno rolled his eyes and pulled out a chair. Rita, fingers covered in sugar, pulled out three battered notebooks.

“So! Here’s the plan!”

“What? Since when are  _ you _ in charge of plans?”

“Since  _ you _ don’t believe in the supernatural Mista Steel! So I thought I’d—”

“Nuh-uh. No.  _ I _ took Smiley’s case, so _ I’m _ in charge.”

“Smiley’s case? What case?” interrupted Skyler. Juno sighed in exasperation.

“Fog said it on the radio. You _ live _ here Skyler.”

“They said Mark Orwell died because of a monster, I don’t see how  _ you’re _ involved.” Skyler’s eyes flicked between Peter and Juno, settling on Peter. Peter’s eyes slid to Juno, switched back and  gave Skyler a pointed look. Rita slowly put down her tea, mouth opening ever wider; Skyler’s eyes widened.

“Oh, shit.” Ne leaned back in neir chair, and clasped neir hands behind nem. “I see how it is. Okay. Now usually, I’d say go for it, blow that thing up to the sun but.” Skyler shook neir head, and tipped back onto four legs.

“The stakes are a lot higher this time, boss,” finished Rita. Juno leaned forward on his elbows.

“What do you mean, the  _ stakes _ ?”

Rita clicked her pen thrice. “Well I mean, last time it was the Washington Devil? And there’s only one of those? Or there was, before you blew it up but this new monster, this bird thing, well, boss…”

“Well what? Rita, please, I have to do something before—”

“There’s more than just one of these Mista Steel. It’s a bird. It lays eggs.”

Juno blinked. “Oh. Wait, how d’you know it’s a bird? Fog didn’t say—”

“Just b’cause the Watcher lives on top of  _ your _ house don’t mean your the only one it talks to, Mista Steel. Everybody likes sugar!  _ Anyway _ , I don’t think the old blow-it-up method is gonna work boss.” Rita shook her head. “No way.” Peter raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“You underestimate us, Rita?”

“Nuh-uh Mista Nureyev, honest, but this thingum killed a full-grown werewolf I hope you know! An’ werewolves are  _ the _ most dangerous thing in these woods, now that the Devil’s dead.” Skyler got up and leaned against the back of Peter’s chair.

“Beside,” ne added, “I heard tell it’s hatching season for monsters.” Peter raised his head and met neir eyes. “I figure b’cause regular animals are born in these spring, and these are most certainly not animals. Plus there’ve been a lotta huge bird tracks in the mud, says Sam of the Hills.” Skyler nodded to Rita.

“Said so at the diner, Mista Nureyev.”

Juno groaned and shoved his hands into his eyes. “ _ Why _ does this have to happen to me? It can’t just be  _ one  _ man-eating monster, no, it’s gotta be a whole dozen.”

“Because it wouldn’t be fun otherwise, darling!” Peter threw a leg over Juno and straddled him. “This town could do with some excitement, don’t you think?” He kissed Juno, hands still over his eyes. Juno smirked into the kiss.

“Don’t need life-threatening monsters to get excited, Nureyev, I can do that without leaving the bedroom.”

“Watch the chair don’t bust…” mumbled Skyler into neir new mug of tea. Peter laughed delightedly and kissed Juno again before returning to his chair.

“So, what is our plan of attack?”

“You done? Okay.” Rita came back from the living room. “Glad you asked! So!” She got onto her chair and tucked her legs beneath her. “Here’s what we’re gonna do…”

 

“Juno?”

“Yeah?”

“Was this  _ really _ necessary?” Juno laughed into the chill air, letting up a puff of steam.

“What’s wrong Nureyev? All that city slicking made you soft? Can’t handle rough terrain?” Juno put the gasoline down and extended a hand to Peter, hauling him up over the rise. Peter sat on the rock and sucked in air. Juno dropped down next to him. The two of them were on a boulder at the top of a rise, high enough that you could sprain an ankle jumping down. At the foot of the rise gurgled the smallest of brooks, tracing a ridge between the stone, disappearing into dirt. “You okay?”

“I can handle the terrain just fine, detective. But I must say, these boots aren’t very pretty are they?” He held out a leg to demonstrate. Juno looked.

“Didn’t have that problem the first time.” Peter snorted.

“I didn’t have the time to consider did I? Running from the Devil does wonders for clearing your mind, I find.” He mused. “The Devil came up to Washington…”

“Tell that to Fog, they’ll make a song about it. Come on, let’s keep moving.” Peter took Juno’s hand and pulled himself up. Juno in the lead, they picked their way over the uneven rock, sliding down the other side of the rise and back into the dense pine. At the threshold of the needle carpet, Peter reached forward and took Juno’s hand; Juno squeezed back.

November had come in folly, bringing with it from its Northern home winds that sent everything, dead or alive, curling into itself. Huddled like a host of wizards, the pines shushed and waved in the wind, hollering complaints to any who would hear them.

“Juno?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we?” Peter ran right into Juno, sloshing the gasoline around in its canister.

“I…  _ think _ we’re near Mose’s cabin.”

“Near it? Juno, it’s at the edge of the woods on the other side of town! Where have you taken us?”

“Where as the likes of you’n wouldna expected, wouldn’tchee?” was the answer, come right out of the bark of a tree to their right. Eyes wide behind his glasses, Peter watched as Mysterious Mose practically condensed out of the air behind a pine. Juno backed ever so slightly into Peter’s front. “Wha’s gotcha fellas out here’ll th’way in mah neck o’ the woods? An’ with… gasoline,” observed Mose, pronouncing it gazoline. “Hah…”

Juno stepped forward, letting Peter take the canister out of his hand. “Listen Mose, we need your help. I dunno if you’ve heard but there’s a monster in the woods” — Mose raised an eyebrow — “A real monster, that eats people.”

“An’ what’ve you seen, Jyuuuuno Stil, that goes an’ makes ya think I hain’t eaten a man?” Mose blinked slowly at him, yellow eyes glinting beneath his dirty hair. The air around him seemed to stiffen. To Peter’s great surprise, Juno merely shrugged.

“None of my business what you do in your free time Mose, but we’ve got a problem, and according to Rita…” Juno grimaced. “We need your help.” Mose squinted at them both, and wiped his dirty cheek with an even dirtier sleeve. Juno waited.

“Oah, well alrigh’, for you, boy ranger, and yo fella. Come on back to th’cabin, I got somethin’ for you.”

“Sure, be right there.” Soon as Mose’s back was turned, Juno dropped to the ground. Peter dropped to his knees next to him.

“Juno? Juno are you—”

“I’m fine, Nureyev, lay off.” He took a deep breath of air; Peter was not convinced.

“Juno, what happened, the air—”

“That’s what happens when you ask something from a guy who made a deal with the Devil. Nureyev, haven’t you heard the song? Mysterious Mose. Skyler’s got a record in the shop, ne’ll probably play it for you.” The grip on Juno’s shoulder and knee tightened. “I’ll… explain everything to you later, I promise. But if we don’t get going, we’re gonna lose Mose.”

 

“Oah, you’ll sure took yer time,” said the air behind a pine.

Juno snorted. “What’d you care about time?” The air cackled, and a few yards ahead an old arm attached to dirty flannel waved at them from behind a different pine. Behind the pine was a ‘cabin’, surrounded by an old wire fence. It was more of a shack; the shingles on the roof all hung at different lengths, and the whole place looked dusty. Odd, Peter noted, for a place where it constantly rained. On one of the fence posts hung a tire. On the other hung an entire chicken skeleton. Peter grimaced.

“Come in, sit where y’find space. Mind you th’splinters.” Juno, who’d never been in Mose’s cabin before, stopped in the doorway; Peter bumped into him, looked over his head, and understood on the spot. The floor of the room past the door was littered in dead pine needles, wood chips, and bones of varying sizes. The few windows set in the wood panel walls were grimy on the edges, and piles of dust sat hunched in the corners. Stacked against the walls were magazines and papers of all kinds, mostly yellowed, and the ones Juno could see were all scribbled on in dark, spiraling letters. He stepped forward gingerly, absolutely sure that the floor would cave beneath him at any second. Mose clicked his tongue from somewhere in the back.

“If youw’ll keep blockin’ th’doorway, you’s gonna let in a whole horde’a things now get  _ in _ here. Jyuuuno, I thought you wa’ a ranger, ain’tchou not s’posed to be scared o’nothin’?” Mose shook his head, taking the coffeepot off the stove attached to the wall in one hand and three chipped mugs — a blue one, a red one, and one that said Chibby Point 15th Annual Fishing Rally — out of a cupboard in the other. “Ain’ nothin’ in this ‘ere house gon’ hurt you, Dame ‘o Hyperion, now get on inside a’fore some wild beast comes a’chargin’ m’shack. There! That wan’t so bad, was it.” Peter put the canister in the doorway.

“Not to be rude, Mr. Mose—”

“That’ll jus’ be Mose to you, Mista Mystery.”

“Well not to be rude, Mose, but I believe Fog keeps spare brooms in their garage… ” Mose went off in peals of hoarse laughter, dropping the mugs brusquely onto the table and falling into a chair. He wiped his eyes and waggled a finger at Peter.

“I see wah the dame likes you so much, Mista Mystery! You’s the first who got the guts to tell Mysterious Mose to sweep his floors!” said Mose, going again into gales of laughter.

Juno rolled his eyes and put the mugs upright, even more chipped now after their descent onto the table. “He just doesn’t know any better. Here.” Peter took the red mug and one look at the chair and perched on the edge of the table. Juno, not one to make a fuss, swept everything off said chair and sat. For his part, Mose climbed onto the chair seat and sat on the top rail, propping his chin on his elbows, on top of his knees so he curled like an S-hook .

“Now, I figure our Mista Mystery heah wants’an esplanation, don’tcha?” Mose grinned, his eyes glinting. “Takes a  _ brave  _ soul’ta make a deal with fella done made a deal with’th Devil. Not the Washington Dev’l mind, I’m talkin’ the real thing. The fella that we got Methodists aginst. Hey now! Don’ go bein’ angry at yer dame!”

Peter took a deep breath, and unknit his brow. “I only want to know one thing. And this may sound silly, but did Juno compromise his soul in any way?” Juno rolled his eyes and Mose shook his head, slight grin on his face. Peter gave them both a once-over, unimpressed.

“I s’spec’ I misspoke. Naw, don’tcha go rufflin’ ur shirttails Mista Mystery. Yer dame’s good an’ safe, ‘specially since he, aw how you say it, ‘stood up’ to the… aw I don’ know how you modern folk say it.” Mose shook his head and motioned to Juno, nearly tipping forward off his chair. “You ‘splain, I’m gettin’ old.” Juno sighed; he took a swig of coffee and choked on his mouthful.

“ _ Damn _ Mose, what’d you put in here? Turpentine?” Peter, about to take a sip, lowered his mug.

A corner of Mose’s mouth quirked up. “Thas  _ yer _ recipe, boy.”

“Huh. Not bad. So, Nureyev, I guess you know by now that our Mysterious “Old Man” Mose here made a deal with the Devil. What? Your landlady was a witch, I didn’t think this would be news to you.”

“Oh it’s not that! I completely believe Mose made such a deal, no offense to you.” Mose waved a hand as to say ‘none taken’. “But I didn’t think non-humans could make those kinds of deals.” Juno and Mose shared a glance, and looked back at Peter.

“Now what makes you think I ain’ human, Mista Mystery?”

“Well, Skyler and Fog…” he gestured feebly. Mose threw his head back, cackling wildly. For his part, Juno glanced up to the ceiling.

“Nureyev, Skyler doesn’t think  _ anybody _ in town is human, not even Mick. And Fog’s got a crazy imagination.”

“Naw, naw, naw, ya beau’s got a point! Yer sharp Mista Mystery, I’ll give ya that, an’ if I used t’be a man, I cain’ remember the times. I ain’ one no more. Now!” He slapped his knees, nearly tipping over the back of the chair. “Abou’ this business; here’s whatcha wanna know. Firstly, you cain’ give up yer ghost jus’ by askin’, elsewise all the folks in Hyperion’d be cussed out the walls. I run th’pharmacy after all. Secondly, things only get dicey when yer askin’ me, Mose, specifically. Any ol’ fool who gave up their soul, thas jus’ a human with a time limit, normal as anythin’. But on accoun’ I ain’ a man in the firs’ place, it’s a lil’ like, hmm, askin’ a favor of a demon by proxy. Puts a real strain on yer ghost if ya ain’t prepared-like.”

“Feels kinda like someone’s got a real tight hold on your guts,” Juno explained, grimacing.

“Hyyep. If y’c’n bear that and not fall over, I help ya. If y’don’t, well, puttin’ this in a nice way, y’basically get the colic. I don’ get folks jus’ for askin’ som’thin’ of me, ain’t polite.”

Peter raised his eyebrows, amused. “I feel that that’s not so much painful as it is embarrassing.”

Mose cackled, swung a leg back and stepped off his chair, unusually smoothly for a man who moved and looked like a crooked tree in the dead of January. He dumped the rest of his coffee into Juno’s empty cup — “no point in wastin’” — and ducked under the table.

“Mista Mystery, get off this ‘ere table for a minute, wouldja.” A leg on the table, Peter noticed, was a whole half-foot shorter than the others, and was propped up by a motley stack of papers and books, all scibbled over, cover and all. Juno lifted the table an inch up. “Thank ya kindly d’tective. Oah, here we go, I got it.” Mose righted himself like a wind up toy-soldier, all the bones in his spine cracking at once. Taking no notice, he dropped a small, overstuffed book onto the table with a satisfying thump. “Alrigh’, so I hear we got a big ol’ bird prowlin’ these woods, on th’order of Elijah Smiley?”

“Yup.”

“Nice boy, good pears.” Mose flipped through half the book and stopped, tapping a finger on a page. “Alrigh’. I figure from yon can o’ gas youw’ll was figurin’ to set it on fire.”

“Not the beast itself, Mr. Mose,” Peter corrected, “its nest.”

Mose, not looking up from his reading, raised his eyebrows. “You’ll city folk sure got ambition, dont’chee. Well,” Mose grunted, shutting his book. “I got’n  _ idea _ of wha’s goin’ on, but I cain’ be certain. Fellas, go t’the bathroom firs’, we’s goin’ monster huntin’.”

 

“Gee Mista Steel, you shoulda told me we were goin’ into the woods, I woulda brought a flashlight!”

“I did, Rita. I said ‘put something dry on, we’re heading into the woods.’”

“Yeah well!”

Juno had called Rita on his walkie-talkie (she insisted he have one, ‘it’s kinda like bein’ a spy boss!’) as soon as Mose had hit them with the blunt weapon that was his declaration.

“ _ What _ ?” Juno had demanded first, incensed. He’d stood up, sending the chair skidding. “Mose, we came here to get rid of the monster  _ without _ having to kill it!”

Mose had gotten up and leaned almost completely across the table. “Jyuno Stil, I ain’ said no words ‘bout killin’ no monster.”

Juno scoffed. “No, but you said ‘hunt’, and that  _ usually _ means someone’s gonna get it. I’m calling Rita.” Before Mose could open his mouth, Juno had left the table and was outside, calling Rita. Mose shook his head and stalked after Juno; Peter followed. Mose’s shack was not large, and from his post in the doorway, Peter took Juno’s hand that wasn’t holding a walkie-talkie and pulled him back inside and caught Juno in his arms. Mose, in his yard, braced his arms against the doorway, facing them both.

“Boy ranger, when I say hunt, I mean r’connaissance. We’s goin’ to find that beast so’s I c’n git the gist o’ wha’s shakin’ down these ‘ere woods. Maybe, if’n I’m feelin’ generous, I’ll take th’fiend down for youw’ll. Night’s still young.” Mose lowered his arms and went back inside, patting Juno on the way. “An’ I don’ wan’ the wind catchin’ word of what we’s gonna do, ol’ gossip’s gon’ yap to everythin’ that moves. Tell ya secretary to meet us at the visit’r’s entrance. I need m’good shoes.”

That was where they met Rita, sitting on the hood of her pink Ford Fairlane. “Boss!” she’d screamed as soon as she’d seen him. “What took so long! It’s rainin’!”

“So why didn’t you sit in the car, Rita?” Juno shouted back from the edge of the woods. Juno, who’d been walking at the same pace as Peter and Mose, sped up to meet her. He sat next to her on the hood of the car. “It’s got a roof,” he pointed out, exasperated.

“But I’m wearin’ a raincoat boss, and you ain’t! You’re gonna get wet!” Rita tried, unsuccessfully, to push him off the hood of her car. Juno stayed put, and elbowed her right back.

“None of your business how wet I get.”

Rita and Peter, who by now had made it to the car, scoffed. “Sure Mista Steel, ain’t my business when my boss catches a chest cold and you’re outta commission for three weeks!”

“I have to say I agree, Juno,” said Peter. “As much as it pains me to admit it, you’re quite intolerable when you’re sick.” Juno glowered, ran his hands over the hood, and flicked water at the both of them. Rita shrieked, and Peter grinned.

“Oah, chil’ren,” drawled Mose. “Not t’bust yo’ fun, but I wanna get movin’  _ b’fore _ the sun eats m’dinner.” Mose shouldered his shovel, turned on his heels, and ambled back towards the woods. Rita, Peter, and Juno followed.

Mysterious Mose had been living in Hyperion for as long as anybody could remember. When the town  of Hyperion was young, it had been constantly besieged by beasts, curious and malevolent, wondering why these mortal newcomers had taken residence in their front parlor.

At the time, Mose had been making a name for himself in the Northeast, roaming through cities, towns and villages and scaring the eyes out of people in the twilight months. But word had gotten around to the night folk that there was a new settlement in the Hyperion Forest, a town that didn’t seem to want to go away. Mose was intrigued.

It was a novelty experience, being distrusted by both man and monster alike; he was too human for the beasts of the woods, all nearly animal and hardly vocal, and too strange for the humans of Hyperion, all lumberjacks and frontiersmen and wary of the supernatural. In the end, he won Hyperion’s favor. Mose presented himself as a traveling pharmacist, wearing outdated clothes and carrying potions and powders. A snake-oil salesman was better than the croup, decided Hyperion, and Mose set up his apothecary on what would later be known as ‘Maim’ Street.

Since then, he’d been watching over the beasts and the people of Hyperion; it was him who convinced a band of Methodists to set up a church on the east end of town, under the pretext that the greatest thing they could do would be to bring religion to these ‘folk toughened by rough living.’ The truth of it was that at the time, Hyperion Forest was one of the great nexi of paranormal power. As such, anything that would surprise and upset a person brought up on concrete had heard about and migrated to the Pacific Northwest (one such beast, a fool in Mose’s opinion, got turned around and stayed in New Jersey). Some of the beasts, like the Nightcrawlers, were harmless; but Mose noticed that bigger, more dangerous things just dripping of the Beneath (Mose would know, he’d been there) were showing up more and more often, and causing more and more fatalities. And what better way, he reasoned, to keep Ol’ Scratch’s envoys out of his new neighborhood than by setting up a barrier of an altogether different kind of energy. His ploy had worked, and Hyperion had lived in relative peace for a century or so.

Until this year, when two Carcass Killers (murderous things with the sole purpose of killing and eating) had arrived in the area in a span of eight months, sending beasts Mose had onlyseen once or twice before in the depths of the woods scurrying into the town proper, causing just an  _ amazing _ ruckus. Since Mose had arrived in Hyperion in 1855, he’d seen exactly two Carcass Killers at half-century intervals; such business was unprecedented and in his opinion, dangerous, and he was determined to get to the bottom of this so that he could go back to growing herbs without tomato men trampling through his yard.

“Mose wait!” Mose stopped in his tracks, train of thought arriving at the station. “Look at the prints,” said Juno, dropping to a knee next to Mose.

“Oah, I do d’clare. That’ll be it’s print alrigh’.”

“Mista Steel! You never told me we were goin’ after a  _ monster _ !” protested Rita.

Juno looked up at her, which was not very high at all. “What did you think we were going to do, pick up pinecones?” he asked dryly. She shrugged in defeat. Juno shook his head and got back up. “The prints’re fresh, and they lead kinda deep into the woods. Rita, Nureyev—”

“Don’t even think about it, Juno,” Peter warned.

“Yeah boss, we’re comin’ with you! Um, safety in numbers an’ all!” Juno looked to Mose for help; a corner of Mose’s mouth lifted up, and shook his head.

“Bring ‘em along, Lord knows we gon’ need lotta help.” Swishing the canister of gasoline in his hand, Mose shambled deeper into the woods. Juno rolled his eyes exasperatedly, shouldered his rifle and followed, Peter and Rita in tow.

"Mista Mystery, I need y’here now. And you, don’ you go makin’ a fuss, he’s a grown man,” said Mose, turning down Juno’s protests before he’d even opened his mouth. The four of them were crouched behind an odd clump of pines some distance from a mound of turned up earth. “Now. I need ya t’take this shovel,” Mose gave Peter the shovel he’d brought from his cabin, “dig a hole out by that lump, and pour all this gazoline in it.” Peter gave the shovel a doubtful look. “An’ Miz Rita, take this’ere cowbell,” Mose produced a cowbell from inside his tattered coat, “an’ make as big a ruckus as’y’can.” He winked at her.

"May I ask why?” asked Peter.

"B’cause that foul stuff attracts any cryptid bigger’n a big dog an’ if I’m gon’ figure this’n out, I gotta see th’beast full face. Now get on’ b’fore them witches go ridin’. Dame ranger,” said Mose, turning his attention to Juno, “go with and cover ‘im. Don’ get’cherselves killed,” he added, nodding vaguely behind him. “Or else Rudy an’ I gon’ have words.”

"Ugh, back up.” Once the hole was dug, Juno upended the canister over it. He grimaced: gasoline in dirt was the last thing a park ranger was supposed to do, and most of it was absorbed into it, only a small puddle left of the canister in the whole. Peter, leaning on the shovel, tilted his head, opened his mouth, and Rita started screaming for all her worth.

_"_ _ Hey monster _ !” she yelled, swinging the cowbell over her head like she’d seen Mary-Anne Sequoyah do in her schoolyard. “Get over here you, you nasty  _ thing _ !” Peter took some steps back, and Juno matter-of factly covered his ears. Rita didn’t stop until she started popping up and down like a sledgehammer on rail nails; Juno took his hands off his ears just in time to hear his walkie-talkie fizz through the vibrations in his legs.

_"_ _ Youw’ll hustle on back I c’n smell it on th’wind _ .” From behind the clump of trees, three hands gestured at them to come back. Peter picked up the shovel, and the three of them took off, cowbell ringing. They slid behind the pines just as footsteps quaked the earth, and the Carcass Killer galloped up to the puddle of gasoline, head swinging in every direction to find the source of the noise. Satisfied with not seeing anything more pressing than a treat, it stuck its beak into the hole and ate the soaked dirt. Rita gagged, and Peter wrinkled his nose. Mose gestured at them to keep quiet and stay put, wrested the rifle off Juno and ran to the thing that had eaten a werewolf, staying low to the ground.

_"_ _ Mose _ !” Juno hissed. “ _ What the hell are you doing _ ?” Peter pulled him back behind the trees.

"Juno, whatever Mose is up to, I’m sure he can take care of himself. But I do  _ not _ want to be seen by something that  _ eats  _ werewolves.”

"Yeah boss, keep it down!” Rita stage-whispered. Juno gave her a dry look, and passed his binoculars to Peter, who was paying close attention to Mose. It wouldn’t do to have a man who already wore glasses squint. For his part, Juno leaned his back against the trees, determined to not look at the thing if he had to. Rita picked up the shovel and stuck to Peter.

Behind the binoculars, Peter blinked. Mose was doing exactly what someone approaching a wild and potentially — or in this case, definitely — dangerous animal shouldn’t do: ambling up to it and swinging a pair of mugs he’d pulled out from who knew where. The beast, busy feasting on rotten dirt, paid no notice to Mose, even when said man shook a mug under its nose. Peter bit his lip and Rita hissed, shaking him. “What’s he doin’! He’s gonna get killed!” Before Peter could answer, the binoculars were pulled out of his hands and Rita pushed into Peter’s side to make room as Juno Steel came in for a better look. “What the hell is he doing, he’s gonna get killed!” Juno hissed.

All evidence to the contrary, Mose was not yet a meal. Mumbling under his breath, Mose shouldered the rifle and he pulled from his pocket a kiwi-shaped thing that Juno, hiding behind a tree a bus-length away, couldn’t make out.

It wasn’t until Mose switched the blue mug for a red one that the beast stirred. And stir vigorously, it did; beak covered in dirt and wide open, it screeched at Mose with a sound not unlike a train going sideways over rails. Peter flinched, and Rita clapped her hands over her ears. Juno saw Mose smirk, drop both mugs into the grass, pull the tab off the grenade, and lob it into the beast’s mouth, cutting its screeching off abruptly. With the butt of the rifle, Mose shut its beak, sprinkled something in the front end, and shot the bird through the neck for good measure. And calmly as you pleased, he picked up the mugs, and pelted back to the copse.

_"_ _ We’re runnin’ chil’ren _ !” he cackled gleefully, tearing past them. Juno and Peter exchanged a look, and took off: Rita was already gone, cowbell ringing wildly. A deep boom  echoed under the pounding of their boots, and the heat of an explosion shunted them forward, nearly sending Juno into the dirt. Before he met it, Peter caught him by the arm and hauled him back up, not breaking his stride. Juno caught the beginnings of an exhilarated grin on Peter’s face, and smirked.

They ran until they were back in the parking lot, where Rita was sitting on the ground, gulping air and Mose was doubled over his knees, taking rattling breaths. At the slap of boot on asphalt, Mose raised his head and Rita jumped to her feet.

"Mista Steel you made it! I was  _ super  _ worried you got caught in the explosion but I was already goin’ seventy miles a clip so I couldn’ stop and that bell was ringin’ an’—”

"Don’t worry Rita,” Juno gasped, leaning one arm on the hood of her car. “I haven’t paid you yet. Mose, you said we were just going reconnaissance!”

"I r’member sayin’ that if’n I was feelin’ generous, I’d git th’fella for ya.” Peter, leaning back on the hood, wheezed a laugh.

"I must say,” he said between breaths, “every time I enter this forest, I end up running out. Almost as if I were an unwelcome houseguest to a rather ornery host,” he contemplated.

"You’re not special,” Juno said. “These woods hate everybody.”

"Except you, Juno. Or so I’m told.” Juno glanced at Peter and shrugged, saying nothing.

Mose, now with his wind back in him, leaned the other way around and popped all the bones in his spine. He extended a bony hand, in which Rita dropped the tarnished cowbell. “I knew this ol’ thing was gon’ come handy one o’ these days. Nothin’ like the ringin’ o’ the bell to get folks runnin’. Alrigh’,” he declared. “I am goin to ‘splain to youw’ll jes’ exac’ly wha’s up and down in these’ere parts. Gimme yer wrist,” he said to Peter, holding out the other bony hand. Sparing a glance for Juno, who narrowed his eyes and leaned into Peter’s side, Peter offered Mose his arm, palm up.

"Wha’s with y’young folks, wearin’ more layers th’n an onion,” Mose griped; he pushed up Peter’s sleeves with one hand, and pulled the cuff of his glove halfway off his hand with the other. His skin was the same temperature and texture as well-used sandpaper, Peter noted. Juno drew even closer to Peter. Mose rubbed Peter’s wrist, rolling the bones over, and pressed his mouth into a line. Juno’s brows drew together.

"Eeeyup, s’just what I s’spected.” Mose pushed Peter’s glove back over his wrist. “I figured somethin’ was up, when a whole troop’a Nightcrawlers pulled down m’laundry line in the dead o’September, but now m’suspicions confirmed what with that thingum. Mista Mystery, you the cause b’hind this heap o’ beasts in the county.”

"He  _ what _ ?” Juno demanded.

"I beg your pardon?” Peter blinked. “What did my wrist have to do with this?” Rita’s mouth made an o-shape and she gasped. Mose held up his hands placidly, and it began to rain.

"Les’ have a talk inside. These ol’ bones cain’t take so much water no more.”

Juno gave him a dry look. “Mose, you live in Washington.”

"An’? Hardly rained so much in ol’ Mass. Miz Rita,” Mose grinned, “where wouldja like t’go t’discuss this upsettin’ news?” Rita looked from Juno to Mose, and snapped her fingers.

"Mista Steel’s office! This is a case, ain’t it boss?” she asked Juno. Juno sighed, and shut his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess it is, Rita.”

Rita smiled at him and unlocked the car. “Mista Mystery in the front, cuz he’s the longest.” Peter smiled at her and she giggled.

The pink car squealed out of the lot, Rita chattering about everything except for what she  _ didn’t _ see in her rearview mirror: smoke rising from the woods.

 

Once the door to his office was safely shut and all coats hung to drip on the coatrack (settled atop newspaper to drip), Juno stepped behind his desk and sank sighing into his chair.

“Okay. Mose. Explain yourself. Rita, if you’re gonna listen, pull up a chair.” She pulled up a chair. Mose cleared his throat.

“ _ Mister _ Mystery,” Mose began, turning to Peter. “I’d put m’hand t’fire that’ol dame ranger here don’ tol’ you  _ nuthin’ _ ‘bout why Hyperion the way it is. Well. This place a swimmin’ pool o’ paranormal energy, as you occultists’d say.”

“I’m not—”

“S’a hobby, sure. An’ anythin’ that would make citified folks — ‘scuse the words — shit their pants with th’screamin’ mimis likes t’gravitate to these, ah,  _ places o’ power _ , les’ say.” Peter blinked, and Juno rolled his eyes so far back he worried for a second they’d get stuck. Mose drummed his fingers on the table. “Name me some’o these places, wouldja, Mista Mystery?”

Peter furrowed his brow for a second. “By things, do you mean… cryptids?” Juno threw his hands into the air and got up to make coffee. Mose cackled genially and rapped the table thrice.

“Th’very same! Among other thin’s.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy then. The Pacific Northwest.”

“Aaand…?” Rita was propped up on her elbows, leaning most of her torso over Juno’s desk.

“In terms of cryptids, I’d say West Virginia too.” Mose nodded and took Juno’s proffered cup with a word of thanks.

 “You git it Mista Mystery. Critter-wise, I’d say those two are th’biggest spots. Now, in terms of  _ unspecific _ energy, th’Southwest and the far North take th’cake. The South, an’specially it’s swamps, are a close runner up.” Mose’s eyes glinted as he said this, and he took a sip of his coffee. “My. You really be tryin’ to stick me under wi’ this’ere joe, aint’cha Stil.”

“You gonna come into my office and spout nonsense, Mose, I’ll make whatever coffee I want.” Mose snorted and took a gulp of coffee, unbothered by the scalding heat.

“Whatever y’want! So. Mista Mystery. You’s from Lweesiana, yea?” Peter nodded, cupping his coffee. “An’ from what I hear an’ see, you’s a regular chaser o’ th’odd an’ unusual.”

“Tell me about it,” Juno joined. “He’s got all the books on the supernatural checked out from half the libraries in the county. I have four library cards now.” Mose raised his eyebrows.

“My, that is impressive. Mista Mystery, where’dja live in th’Big Easy?”

“Some distance into French Quarter.” Mose nodded.

“Didja know a lady named Marie Laveau?”

“Of course, she was my neighbor. Her granddaughter came to visit not too long ago.”

“‘Scuse me?” Mose stopped short and gaped at Peter. “Musta been a lady o’ the same name—”

“No, Mose, I believe we’re talking about the same Marie. The Voodoo Queen? Yes, seems as if she didn’t die. In fact, she gave me this,” Peter pulled a gris-gris on a string out from his pocket, “before I left.”

“May I— thankee.” Mose held the nondescript brown bag up by a shaky finger, and it spun slowly on its string. Mose sniffed. “Oah,” he said softly, “cinquefoil. And High John the Conqueror! Lawk a mercy, is’ a good thing I don’ intend t’do y’harm, Mista Mystery, or else this business woulda banished me clear t’the next coun’y over.” Peter took the sachet back, highly satisfied and a bit alarmed. He had taken the gris-gris to pacify his neighbor; he hadn’t any idea how strong it was. Perhaps that was why he never saw any ghosts.

“Could I borrow it sometime Mista Mystery? I think I got ghosts under the sink,” said Rita.

“Gris-gris won’ do you no good for ghosts in th’house Miz Rita. Come on by, I’ll give ya a blackberry wreath. Much more efficient.” Mose cleared his throat again. “Now I know that youw’ll was a clear an’ proper acquaintance of th’esteemed Marie Laveau, ’s no  _ wonder _ all this been happenin’! You, Mista Mystery” said Mose, shaking a twig finger at Peter, “hav ‘increased the weird o’ th’woods by a factor of about, say, tenfold. All yon’ business dancin’ with them N’Orleans ghosts and spirits, not t’mention I bet y’met all kindsa things on th’road, you are  _ just _ th’person to get all that stickin’ fuzz t’ya, and y’brought it here! Mista Mystery,  _ you _ are a paranormal magnet,  _ jus’ _ like th’woods!” Mose went off into a peal of cackling, and Juno glared daggers at Peter. Peter held his hands up in an  _ I didn’t know! _ fashion. Mose wiped the tears from his face and took a deep breath.

“I just cain’  _ not  _ b’lieve this. Ain’ it a wonder!” declared Mose, spreading his hands out in the fashion of a great lord and getting up. “On sec’nd thought,  _ no _ wonder why y’went and found th’Dame o’ Hyperion. Alrigh’, well, thankee for th’coffee, dame d’tective, an’ the excitin’ afternoon. An’ don’ worry y’self, I’ll clean up th’business and th’beasts kin lest the Park Service come for m’teeth. G’night!” The door shut behind Mose before anyone could move; Juno collapsed, defeated, into his chair. For the second time today, he shoved his palms into his eyes. He heard Peter walk around the desk, and the door shut a second time with a soft “g’night Mista Steel”. Hands set themselves lightly upon his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Juno.” Juno put his hands down, and gazed up into Peter’s eyes.

“Why? It’s not your fault. Besides,” Juno put a hand over Peter’s, and rubbed the wrist under his shirtsleeve. “brought you here, didn’t it? I should give up the detective business, be a paranormal investigator instead.”

“Oh,” said Peter, amused. “ _ Now  _ you believe in the paranormal?”

Juno shrugged, turned his head, and kissed Peter’s wrist for an answer. Peter chuckled. “Wanna be my partner?” he asked.

Peter laughed this time. “I’d be honored,” he said, and bent down to kiss Juno.

 

“This isn’t good, Mose,” warned Skyler, down on a knee in front of the half-buried eggs. Ne poked one with a finger; it came back with a sticky pink residue. Fog looked up, splashing some of the vinegar-gasoline mix on their boots. “If there’s one batch, who knows how many others there are.”

Mose lit a match. “Weeellll, that jus’ gives me an excuse to tinker with m’grenade formulas, don’ it?” He tossed the match into the nest; the rising flames sputtered a bright green, the smoke reeking of calcified shrimp. “Things’re gettin’  _ real _ interestin’ these days, ain’ they.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring my main man, Mysterious Mose! He haunts most of my waking life and I heard him twice on Halloween once. The only spitfic I had was the bit with oranges, and that's it. All the plant business is certified to work against haunts. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	26. Wait 'til Peter Comes

“ _He’ll get it, I swear he will, he’ll get it, I swear he will_ …” Three different pairs of shoes to blur the trail, two screwdriver marks to look like fangs in the main artery and some rubber tubes to prevent splashes, and 95% isopropyl alcohol. He’d taken the blood of four people in their beds under the last quarter moon, and he’d been so _close_ to completing the ritual. Lord, it sounded so tacky now. He laughed bitterly, clutching his dribbling red hand with the left one. The plan had been foolproof. Infallible, even!

Until that bastard detective had come beating down the front door with half the local police department behind him and ruining his five-year plan in two shakes. The detective (he must’ve been, with that trenchcoat) had shot him right through the hand, and he’d been taken into police custody. “Should’ve listened to me in the first place, _Khan_ ,” Steel had growled to the police chief. “Would've saved you, what, four case reports? A life, maybe?” He hadn’t heard the rest, being shoved into a police car as he was, but he did catch the name _Steel_ being snarled by a grudgingly thankful officer of the peace. A name to pin his vengeance on.

The cops had loosely bound up his hand, loose enough for him to undo the binding and use the still-flowing blood (how useful to be a hemophiliac in the business of blood sacrifice) to scratch out a few symbols on the seat and mumble a ‘prayer’, so the cops thought.

 _You summon me?_ hissed the weakling demon in his mind. _I do_ , he whispered back. _Free me, and you may have my hand_ . The demon accepted, and blew up the car. He’d been left intact, in the midst of a burning wreckage, in the middle of the road that snuck between the pines to Old Town. Jumping the guardrail, he slid down into the woods and followed the smell of lake water. (He was a local, _of course_ he was; the woods loved the ruthless after all. But not the unjust.) His right hand, not only shot but with a deep ring of bites around his wrist now, dripped with blood like water.

At last, he found it; the old fishing shack on the far side of the lake, empty in this season. Dizzy now with blood loss and exertion, he fell through the door. The little rowboat moored to the landing behind the shack bobbed in the ripples of the strangely clear night for the season.

The shack was the same as it always was: clean, a bit dusty. Boxes here and there of fishing gear left from the last season. He lit the oven at the back of the shack for warmth, bound his hand, and lay back in a hard chair. Just a little bit of rest before he damned the detective to hell…

He woke up with a start, laying eyes on a black cat sitting on the stovetop. It stared at him for a while, and blinked its new penny eyes. He dropped back to sleep.

 

It sat and waited until something came stepping quietly over the pine carpet. When the steps came close enough, it shook itself with a sound not unlike something rushing through underbrush, and listened for a soft inhale. _Aha_. It shook itself again, and waited for the steps to come closer. It got up and started trotting, the steps following.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the cat was still on the stovetop. Next to it, sitting on the old pine table, was a black, misty mass the size of a big box. It opened its eyes and was a cat. Peering at him very closely, it asked, “Shall we do it now?”

“No,” said the other cat, staring straight at him, its oxidized penny eyes unblinking. “Let’s wait ’til Peter comes.”

 _Blood loss_ , he thought, and closed his eyes again.

 

It sat waiting under a fern for the other one, and rubbed faces with it when it appeared, urgent steps in tow. The other one took off, and now it was _its_ turn to be the leader. The steps stopped, and it listened for breathing. It shook itself; the steps took a step back, then forward. It got up and made for the edge of the woods, steps following, and took off once the stars made themselves known again. The steps let out a breath — “Incredible” — at the edge of the woods.

 

A sound like a broom over fresh bread made him open his eyes again. He started and sat up in his chair. A _third_ cat was in the room now, as big as a rocking chair. His chest started heaving. It looked him over, and it asked, “Shall we do it now?”

"No,” said the others. “Let’s wait ’til Peter comes.”

He jumped up, skidding the chair back, the bandage around his hand soaked through. He ran for the door. “When Peter comes, tell him I couldn’t wait,” he called behind him, and smacked right into what should have been a door, but was instead a black figure. Said figure was backlit by moon; his shadow stretched into the room and reached over to pet the littlest black cat. It purred. The figure in flesh, meanwhile, adjusted his gloves.

“No need,” smiled the man, sharp teeth shining. “You can just tell me now.” The rhythmic dripping on the floor was joined by a quiet gush, a gurgling cry, a thud. The red right hand fell in a puddle of blood onto a strip of moon on the floor.

Peter cleaned his knife on a handkerchief and clicked on his walkie-talkie. “Juno? I’ve got him, over.”

Juno, in his Pontiac with Rita at the helm, clicked his own walkie-talkie. “Is he still alive?” he asked urgently. “Over.”

“Well, not anymore he isn’t. Lost quite a lot of blood too, over.”

“Good. Where are you, Nureyev? Over.”

“The fishing shack. Clue’s here too, by the way, over.”

“Clue? What’s she doing in the fishing shack?”

“No idea, detective. Hurry please, I miss your pretty face.”

“Shut _up_ Nureyev, over. He’s at the shack, Rita.”

“You got it boss!” Rita pulled a sharp right and bounced onto the back road between the pines to the lake.

Peter smiled fondly at his walkie-talkie and stepped over the body, minding the puddle of blood by the chair. “How does a man bleed so much and keep moving?” he mused, tickling Clue under the chin. She rubbed her face against Peter’s glove, and held his gaze with her yellow eyes. “I see,” he said, though he didn’t see at all, and rubbed her head. “Were you here alone this whole time?” Clue flicked her tail.

“Nureyev!” Juno shouted from the threshold.

“In here detective!” Peter shouted back. He moved to pick up Clue, and thought better of it. “When it suits you,” he simply said to her, and moved back through the fishing shack in dire need of a scrub down. Clue watched as Peter spoke to the police, gestured at the body, and waited until the body was removed. Then she hopped down and made her way gingerly around the blood and over the grass to Juno, leaning against the hood of his car; she hopped up next to him. Focused entirely on arguing with Khan, he raised his hand, and Clue licked his fingers. Juno stopped mid-word and looked down.

“Oh, Clue. Here.” He laid his hand out; Clue padded up his arm and sat on Juno’s shoulder. Captain Khan’s glare flicked between Clue’s face and her dame’s.

“I, uh.” Khan coughed. “Steel.”

“Yeah?” Clue stared down at Khan, clear eyes unblinking.

“Come by the station tomorrow, and, uh.” He coughed again. “Pick up your reward.”

Juno smirked, and Clue purred as he reached up to scratch her chest. “Sure thing, Khan. Have a good night.” Khan coughed again, and yelled at his team to quit slacking so he could close this damn case. Clue flicked her tail, pleased, and jumped down. Smacking Juno’s leg with her tail, she padded back into the shack.

"Peter came,” said a voice under the stove.

"Peter came,” said a voice in the far corner of the shack. Four eyes and nine eyes blinked at her, respectively. Her third eye blinked back.

"Peter came,” Clue agreed. “His shadow came too.”

"His shadow,” said the voice under the stove.

"His shadow,” said the voice in the corner. “The innards of his outsides dared a hand, and so we are now in camaraderie. His shadow, he, both join honorarily the Company of Cats.”

"So they do,” acquiesced the voice under stove.

"So they do,” acquiesced Clue. “Fair hunting.”

“Fair hunting.”

“Fair hunting.”

Clue’s third eye closed, and she dashed back outside where Juno and Peter sat on the hood of the Pontiac, grumbling and laughing respectively, hand in ungloved hand. Rita sat in shotgun, feet out the door, humming Ella Fitzgerald.

Juno turned his head at Clue’s meow, and slid off the hood, Peter’s hands still in his own. “Clue’s here, we’re going home.” He looked at her. “And Clue has shotgun. Rita, you’re driving.” Rita saluted and scooted over into the driver's seat.

 

"That’s the last time you go after a serial killer on your own.”

"I wasn’t in any danger Juno, you know that. And he was after your blood.”

"Doesn’t matter. Rita, turn here. Nureyev?”

"Hm?”

"How’d you find him? We were on the other side of the lake when he got loose.”

"Well you’re the detective, detective,” he chuckled. “You tell me.”

 _"_ _Nureyev_ …”

"Oh, alright. Well, put it this way: I followed a company of cats.”

 _'_ _Cats’ is one way to put it_ , thought Clue, and kept it to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Scary Stories series and the books about Vampires and UFOs and aliens were in the Juvenile Nonfiction section at the library so! Things're trouble. I was trying to write a different story but That one wasn't working and This one came to me in a flash so it banged itself out. Directly inspired by Wait 'til Martin Comes and a book on the Romanovs. Isopropyl alcohol from the fact that we have two bottles in the pantry next to the flour and cookie jars. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	27. Gargoyles

In the evenings, he’d put a kitchen chair by the window, stick his head out and see if anyone else was willing for a chat. Peter had spent many a fine twilight gossiping with his neighbors out the window, over the balcony, and sometimes, if things weren’t too tight and the evening was fine or if someone had gotten married, in the kitchen over a bit to eat. That had been, of course, when he’d lived in a two-hundred year old tenement building where laundry lines hung between buildings and he’d watched his neighbor’s daughter for a plate of rice and gravy.

These evenings (not that he had the time anymore, a life like his), he’d hang out the window and simply watch whatever went down in the dirt road: on a good one, Fog and Skyler sitting in lawn chairs strumming and playing the trumpet. On a bad one, nothing but the machines in the garage buzzing and the sun setting the clouds red. Those evenings, of course, had Juno back in the apartment before night fell and new library books. (Juno said they were all hokey, but he’d put a few on hold on his own library card). It wasn’t that he  _ missed _ the tight alleys and the constant smell of wet laundry; it was the hanging out of a small window in the kitchen and holding his hands out against the setting sun that would have him sighing.

 

"Juno your… porch roof or whatever it is in desperate need of repairs.”

"I don’t have a porch roof, and it’s fine.” Juno braced himself and—sure enough—two arms leaned on his shoulders and a cheek lay down on his head.

"Whatever it is that hangs over your front door is full of holes and does exactly nothing to keep the rain off the doormat,” Peter corrected. Juno huffed and turned a page on the newspaper.

"Can’t fix it,” was all he said. A finger poked him in the collarbone.

"Now whatever gave you that idea?  _ I’m _ doing the repairs.” Juno put down the paper.

"You don’t fix a toaster the same way you fix a roof, Peter. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Peter chuckled. “If I can fix a toaster, detective, I’m sure a roof isn’t beyond my capabilities. And you’re welcome.” He kissed Juno firmly and went in search of hammer, nails, and tin. For the tin, he opened the kitchen window and yelled into the street.

"FOG!” he hollered. A body on a plank shot out of the garage and into the street. Fog pulled down their bandana.

"WHAT!”

"Do you have any corrugated tin? I’m fixing the porch roof.” Fog raised an eyebrow and looked at their own house, dripping with porch railings and clown dolls. They banged into the shop next door; that Peter could hear them hollering at Skyler from up where he was worried him. Skyler came out of the shop with two sheets of metal.

"I’ll leave ‘em out here!” ne hollered, dropped them on Fog’s feet and went back inside. It didn’t matter to them, in their workboots, but they sighed and tugged the sheets over to Juno’s steps anyway. Peter went back inside to put on a well-used shirt.

By the time he was outside, Fog had leaned a ladder against the columns.

"Don’t you have a car to fix?” he asked, a foot on the lower rung.

Fog shrugged and rolled their eyes. “It’s mostly done, I just have to tighten some screws and get the insurance through. Nothin’ interestin’ like a bust radiator hose” They shook their head and held the ladder. “Hate gettin’ under the car. Chokesome. Be seein’ ya.” Peter looked over the dented and rusted tin and bit his lip in thought. He reached back and knocked the window behind him; Juno looked out and whistled.

"Nice view from back here.”

Peter smirked, face forward. “Thank you darling, but I need your opinion. Which parts can I salvage, and which are good for scrap?” Juno craned his neck out the kitchen window — definitely not looking down — at his porch roof.

"If more than half of it is damaged, replace it. No point cutting it, it’s harder to patch up.”

"I see. Alright, well, on hands and knees then.”

"Lookin’ forward to it.” Juno shut the window before Peter could say anything outrageous and was down to the office in a flash. Chuckling, Peter flipped the hammer over and started pulling up nails.

It wasn’t a bad job, considering. The roof was solid again and the busted sheets were in the street, ready to be torn up or used as a Hot Minute Washboard. His pants weren’t fit to be seen in public anymore, but it really wasn’t worse than what the mechanic looked like on the daily. The setting sun gave him the evil eye from behind the pines, and he shaded his eyes against it and the goblin out on the gablet. He furrowed his brow. The goblin waved.

"You doin’ okay up there Nureyev?” ne asked.

"Just fine, and I finished the roof. May I ask what you’re doing, Skyler, sitting over the window like that?”

"Oh, you know,” ne shrugged noncommittally, “just being a goblin.”

"Is that so?” Peter leaned back on the roof. “Now, what’s the truth?”

Skyler went ‘pff’ and rolled neir eyes. “Fog’s practicing and they don’t like ‘rude comments about my tunin'’ they said.”

"What did you say, exactly?”

"That G minor doesn’t suit their song at all.”

“And what did they say.”

“That someone who, ‘sounds out of tune nigh constantly oughta keep neir trap shut and get outta the room b’fore I fling somethin,’” Skyler drawled.

Peter chuckled. “It certainly wouldn’t do to heckle the person who keeps a wrench and screwdriver on their person at all times. But tell me…”

 

“Never thought I’d see gargoyles in person, but goes to show,” mused Fog Burns, back to back with Juno Steel in the middle of their shared street. “How long’ve they been up there?”

"Since about four in the afternoon.” Fog whistled. On porch roof and gablet over window respectively, Peter Nureyev and Skyler Stone chatted with the aplomb of people hanging out a kitchen window—and had been for three hours.

"They comin’ down soon? It’s dinnertime.”  

"Yeah… no, doesn’t look like it. Hey Nureyev! The hell you been doing up there all this time?”

"He—oh, Juno, is that you? I’ve been chatting with the neighbors,” he beamed. Juno rolled his eyes good-humoredly.

"For three hours straight? Come on down, I made salmon.”

"Is that so? Well, anything for you, detective.” In one move, Peter slid to the edge of the roof and swung down the gutter pipe. Fog blinked, unimpressed.

"What was the point of leaving the ladder out in the wide open if you were just gonna come down like that?” they mumbled, folding the ladder. Fog waved good night and went back to stand in the middle of the road, ladder under their arm.

"You comin’ down? I made dinner too: some weird vegetable, real bumpy but it tastes decent.”

Skyler considered. “Mm, no.”

"That so? Well lemme go find the hose then—don’t you move!” Skyler did, in fact, move: ne scampered back into the window at top speed. “Jus’ like a goblin.” Fog shook their head and hoisted the ladder over their shoulder. Maybe they oughta put a cushion up there. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who has a corrugated tin roof these days? Not me, I'm shingled. I don't like salmon m'self, because when it's in the house it has a tendency to be Tasteless and Wet. There's nothing nicer to me than hanging out of a high window and watching the sun set; take it from a person who Hates the city very much. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	28. Two and a Half Lives

If she could’ve, she would’ve scowled. Things would be wonderful were it sixty degrees and she’d eaten something everyday for the past week but now, at this very moment, she was in hell: it was late afternoon, snow was on its way, and all the trash was too spoiled to eat, even for her. She hadn’t eaten more than rancid meat two days since, being too little for rat-hunting (especially the Chicago sewer rats).

She didn’t care for human folks except that they put the bins out for food, and newspapers to play with when it was warm, but even  _ she’d _ noticed that there was less and less in the bins and the folks were less clean, and more sad.  _ Things _ , she surmised,  _ are getting a little fierce _ . She huddled behind foul bins and thought hard to pretend she wasn’t tired and cold. Harder and harder she thought, about mice and dreams, and slower and slower her heart beat.

On what she was thinking was her next-to-last breath, a Feeling pulled at her nose and before she knew it dragged her through the chain link fence (she was eight months old and small and thin) and into the alley that belonged to some ragged tenement building.  _ What are you that is bringing me here _ , she wondered to the yanking thought in her whiskers. At the bottom of the fire escape she stopped, just to prove that she was in charge here. The feeling jumped up and down. Satisfied, she jumped onto a bin and up to the fire escape. The first window? No, not even the first floor. The second, the third—ah. Twitching her ears just a bit, she heard faint voices.  _ Babies!  _ she thought. Sure enough, the voices of two children bubbled through the cloth covered glass.  _ When the roaches hit the road _ , she thought, yowling at the window. She listened: a little gasp, a thump, and what might have been whispers. Mewing softer now, as close to pitiful a proud cat like her could get, she clawed at the glass. The voices got louder, and finally the window opened: before the little boy behind it could move, she was inside and darting for the kitchen.

“Juno I  _ told _ you!” shouted Benten Steel, aged six, running after the cat. Juno Steel shut the window properly before chasing after her.

She was having an excellent time: there were mice running stupid on the floor right there! It’d been  _ ages _ since she’d had a fresh meal.  _ Thank you _ , she remembered to say to the Feeling before beheading a mouse.

“Juno look! It’s eating the mice!”

“Yeah I can see that genius, I got both eyes in my head.” The children stood in the doorway, watching as the cat sped from corner to corner, eating five mice before it had enough; then it sat and stared at the boys. Juno Steel, wise in the ways of getting animals to like him, crept forward and put his hand out for the cat to sniff. The cat sniffed, sniffed again, and licked his fingers. A smile cracked across his face like warm ice, and Juno Steel scratched the cat under the chin.

“Benten get over here. Put your hand out.” Benten crouched next to Juno and put his hand out. The cat sniffed and licked his fingers too. They were both beaming now, and dared to pet her a little more; to everyone’s shock (even hers), the cat purred.

“Huh!”

“Huh. Here, Benten back up.”

“Why?”

"Because I’m gonna try to pick it up and you don’t wanna get bit, do ya?” Juno rolled his eyes as Benten got even closer. “Alright kitty, up we go…” She, not having been picked up except by her mother in ages, was very surprised when two warm little hands caught her under the forepaws and lifted her up.

"She’s a girl.”

"How d’you know?”

"I just do.” And Juno quickly cradled her in both arms.  _ Oho _ , she purred,  _ this is very good _ . She rubbed her head against the shirt belonging to…  _ the picker-upper, Juno. The other, the chaser, Benten. Good _ . Squirming until Juno let her loose, she jumped down and decided to look around her new digs, supposing she wasn’t thrown out.

"Ma’s not gonna be happy ‘bout a cat in the house.”

"So we gotta hide her.”

"Where? We can’t hide a cat Benten. She’s gotta eat.”

"Then we’ll give her a pitch! The best mouser this side of the Atlantic, we present to you… What’s her name?”

"The cat?”

"Duh!”

"Um… how about… Turbo?” She looked at them in disgust, pink nose wrinkled and eyes screwed up.

"She doesn’t like that.”

"Well I don’t know! Clueless then, cuz she showed up in the one house with no heating in the middle of winter.”  _ Not perfect, but better _ , she jumped up onto the living room table and surveyed the place. It wasn’t good: the boys were a bit ragged, the chairs were a bit scratched, and the kitchen was haunted by mice and likely roaches.  _ Perfect _ . So having decided she was pleased to be here, Clueless padded into the bedroom and snuck under the unmade sheets.  _ My place now _ .    

Juno was right: Sarah Steel did not want a cat in the house. But she did want something to get rid of the mice and the roaches, and Clueless, as she was now called, wasn’t picky about bugs. “Fine,” she sighed. “The cat can stay as long as there’s vermin in the kitchen. And don’t start sneaking mice in just so you two can keep her. Things are hard enough as it is. Clear?” The boys nodded vigorously, and Clueless chewed peacefully on a roach.  _ Things _ , she decided,  _ are not as fierce as they could be _ .

All things considered, winter inside was much preferable to winter outside, even if the temperature only differed by two degrees at most. If she could have, she would’ve told the little ones so. (She tried to, chattering at them like her mother had to her. Benten tried to chatter back. Juno just talked to her like as if she was a person too.) As it was, all a cat could do was sit on their feet until they fell asleep, then pad to the kitchen for her dinner: roaches usually, mice in abundance if she went out in the hall. She avoided Sarah whenever possible and licked up Juno and Benten’s tears with her scratchy little tongue and nuzzling them between the eyes until they either squeezed her or laughed (one more than the other).

Clueless was the first to notice, being a cat and reasonable in all ways. It’d begun by a prickling in her fur, and a twitch in her tail that she was most certainly not in charge of, which annoyed her to no end.  _ And thus, spring is here _ . Spring had returned to Chicago, in fits and starts and melting puddles of slush everywhere. The twins, as soon as the kitchen thermometer hit forty degrees, were out in the street with their tin men and toy guns, and so was everyone else. At the first hint of fresh air, laundry lines were strung between windows, winter coats were put away and people were shouting across the road again, shaking their fists at the rare cars that would tear through the poor narrow streets. The thought of cars niggled at Clueless in the worst of ways, and she braced herself.

"Benten aim high!”

"You got it!” He aimed high.

_"_ _ Benten! _ ”

"Whoops.” Clueless blinked slowly from her post on the apartment steps, watching the boys play ball on the street. It was loud, the cold, dry air allowing the vast noise of the city to march brazenly through the neighborhood, with no care for her poor ears (which she’d finally grown into thank you). She watched Juno, rolling his eyes like a much older and exasperated person, start to trot across down the sidewalk to cross the road to the ball which lay at her paws. Batting absently at it, her ears twitched.  _ Can it…? No. It can’t _ . She spun her head around: a car was tearing down at the other end of street, speeding this way. And someone had started tearing a wall down on the building next door! Her boy couldn’t tell, hadn’t heard a car yet, didn’t know the noise.  _ Juno’s gonna be roadkill _ .

Clueless had three seconds before her boy stepped off the sidewalk; she pretended to think on what to do, and stretched for what she was sure was the last time.  _ What’s that bad word that the detectives say on the radio that their ma doesn’t want them to say? _ she wondered, racing out into the road.  _ Ah, yes. Dammit _ . The car hit her dead on; with the last of her fading senses, she saw Juno’s eyes fly wide open, a foot on the road. Then her lights went out.

The clock ticked the seconds; her tail twitched in time. The glass ball of a lamp glowed the same shade of her eyes; she sniffed at it, gagged. It still smelled of halogen. The bell to the door rang downstairs, and a very small mass landed on top of her back.

"Evangeline! Guess what guess what?” the little tabby kitten exclaimed. The madame of the house had outfitted her with a white bow, and in Her Own opinion it suited the kitten rather nicely. Professional.

"Somebody’s coming.”

"Oh, wow! How’d you guess?”

"I just did.” Her own tail twitched, and the little tabby kitten, who’d recently been named Presto, butted into Evangeline’s side through layers of fur. Evangeline sniffed; her madame was wonderful, but in Her Own opinion, the name (and frankly, the getup) didn’t suit a street cat like Evangeline in any fashion.

"But Evangeline, you’re not a street cat! You never were, you were a Witch Gift.” Evangeline cuffed her little ward gently.

"Who told you to know anything?” she asked. Presto nibbled on her ear. Evangeline sat patiently and listened. She’d gotten rather good at that in the past decade. The door downstairs shut. A voice made of red lipstick, expensive dresses, and good food bubbled up the stairs; a voice made of pomade, tailored clothes, and myrrh followed confidently behind the madame. Evangeline sat up. The parlor door opened, and two fine folks strode through.

“…  _ something _ is bound to come up, that’s how we do things around here. Ah, Mister Nureyev, allow me to present to you my assistants—my familiars, if you have the fancy.” Madame Josephine, made up and dressed in her loveliest green silk waved at Evangeline and Presto with a flourish. “The kitten with the white bow is named Presto, a recent addition to the household. She came in through the kitchen and the cook presented her to me, as she knows I’d been looking for a cat of the right, hm,  _ talents _ . And this lovely purebred black Maine Coon is Evangeline. She came to me as a gift from Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen. I’m sure you know her.”

"Of course,” said the young man, bending down to let Presto sniff his hand. In a trice, Presto was rubbing her face on his legs, leaving fur on his black slacks. Evangeline sniffed, and would’ve squinted if she could have; the man was wearing no makeup whatsoever and in fact wore rather unfashionable glasses,  _ and yet… I know him. Don’t know from where but let’s play gumshoe _ .

"Cats are rather good at magnifying psychic energy, Mister Nureyev, it’s why I keep two in the house at all times. For example, just having Presto in the room when I perform a full deck reading is enough to suck all the static out of the air! Rather good for keeping the carpet lying flat, but horrible for the hair if you happen to touch her. Now Evangeline, according to what Madame Laveau told me, is on her third life, and as such supposedly amplifies clairvoyance. I don't know about  _ that _ , but she certainly does a lot for the image.”

"The image of?” inquired Mister Nureyev politely. Evangeline hopped from the table onto the back of the ottoman, behind the man’s head. He turned blinked at her slowly.  _ Fascinating _ , she thought, sniffing his face; he smelled of myrrh and faintly of old, rusted metal. _ Of all things… What’s a fella like this been doing hopping boxcars? Smelling like the hard streets. Like… _

"Why, of a high-class psychic establishment my dear! Even the upper echelons of society frequent my parlor. You understand if I don’t give you the particulars, as some these fine folks would be rather, hm, _ put out  _ if the papers got wind of their activities. Now, my dear, what would you have read by Madame Josephine? A fortune? A romance? Or merely whether you should think of pulling out the rubbers?” Mister Nureyev turned his attention back to Evangeline’s madame.

"How did you know I came for a reading?”

Madame Josephine smiled indulgently. “Only two types of people frequent my front steps, my dear: those wishing to uncover a secret, and those wishing to discredit my business.”

"And that pretty canary from L’Ange Bleu!” exclaimed Presto. Evangeline dropped down to cuff her.

"Well?” prompted Madame Josephine. She pulled a Rider Waithe Smith tarot deck out from between the cushions and shuffled the cards. “What shall it be my dear?” Mister Nureyev,  _ Nureyev _ to Evangeline’s mind, put Presto in his lap.

"Madame Josephine,” he hesitated, “is there danger in my future?” The lady looked up briefly from her shuffling, and shuffled faster.

"You will have to be more specific, my love. Not one life alive escapes danger.” Nureyev hesitated, absently scratching Presto’s head as she mewed up at him.

"Is there… shall we say, danger with intent behind it in my future?” he smiled. Evangeline wasn’t fooled and flicked her tail: that smile was forced if she bet her fish dinner, and there were undertones of agrimony in his cologne.  _ That’s not a good smell for perfume, but humans wouldn’t notice a hill of beans _ , she thought, jumping onto the edge of the table. Madame Josephine set her mouth in a thin line, and dished out six cards in a pyramid.

What came out of the deck was not good; Presto took one look at the first card and dove beneath Madame Josephine’s chair. She was as all cats receptive to bad energy—more so as she was still very young—and this, to Presto and Evangeline’s shared opinion, was not jake  _ at all _ . The Moon was on top; beneath it were the Nine and Ten of Swords, and on the bottom row was Death, flanked on either side by the Eight and Nine of Wands. Josephine took in a sharp breath and crossed herself. Evangeline’s ears twitched. Nureyev looked at the spread, the unhappy set of Madame Josephine’s mouth, and then at Evangeline.

“The news isn’t good, I take it,” he stated flatly. Madame Josephine shook her head and folded the cards back into the deck, shuffling rapidly.

“I will not sugarcoat this, my dear: in your future, there will be a terrible upheaval of circumstance, and you will have to fly quickly. I am afraid that you shall be very unhappy very soon. I do not know the specifics, the tarot never is, but you will have to be very strong, my love, for whatever will face you.” Madame Josephine sighed, and reached behind the cushion for the good sherry. Pouring it into two small glasses, she smiled ruefully. “There is one good thing. You will have a new beginning, and this one will not hurt you.” She grimaced at the drink. Nureyev stared grimly at his glass. Presto peered shyly up from beneath Madame Josephine’s armchair.

_ Absolutely I will not have this. At all! _ Evangeline onto the table, deftly knocking the deck to the floor. The cards scattered and flew over the carpet, not unlike startled birds. Presto pounced with glee into the fray.

“Evangeline!” cried Madame Josephine, moving to put the deck back to rights. Nureyev, a gentleman, put his glass down and moved to help her. Evangeline daintily licked a paw, as the mess wasn’t hers. How the cards moved certainly wasn’t her business.

“Oh, you bad cat,” Madame Josephine admonished. “No cream for you tonight.” Evangeline stared steadily down at the cards; the madame didn’t see yet, piling the cards back with Nureyev’s help. Madame Josephine counted the cards like a croupier, and frowned. “Two are missing, where… Presto!” The madame fetched Presto up by the scruff, revealing beneath her the Lovers and the Knight of Cups arranged in a cross, the former under the latter. Madame Josephine blinked, and narrowed her eyes at Evangeline, who’d jumped down from the table. Evangeline eyed her madame right back, sitting next to Presto.

“Good job,” Evangeline purred, licking Presto’s head. Presto shut her eyes. Nureyev craned his neck to the new arrangement of cards. Madame Josephine sighed, exasperated.

“Well, Mister Nureyev, the cats have seen fit to read the cards for you, in their  _ own _ fashion.” Madame Josephine arched an eyebrow at her two cats, rising and dusting off her dress. “The Lovers and the Knight of Cups. The Knight of Cups is on top, meaning that the Lovers are upright, and the Knight is horizontal.  _ This _ means that you will have a, hm, paramour of difficult temperament.” Nureyev blinked, still kneeling on the floor. Madame Josephine smiled at him. “But a glimmering person all the same, to you no doubt.” Evangeline flicked her tail to see the gears in Nureyev’s mind turn, and decided to give him her loyalty.

_ The Knight of Cups sideways… Creativity, romance, charm, imagination, beauty, an overactive imagination, unrealistic, jealous, and moody. _ Evangeline turned her mind back to the time she snuck into the private reading room where the purple crystal ball was when she was six months old, and after patting it a few times had seen a vision: a stocky dame in a trench coat, with a scar across his nose. She peered closer, and the man’s eyes had startled her so bad Evangeline had fallen off the table, knocking off quite a few tapered candles.

Being a Cat, she was allowed more knowledge than a human was in crystal-gazing: when a cat saw a person in a crystal ball, they got a general impression of the person’s personality. In this case, she’d gotten Moody, Failed Romantic, Imagination, and Unrealistic. The rest she could see for herself. What had Evangeline running was that the personality belonged to  _ her boy’s eyes _ . She’d never doubted he’d grow up grumpy,  _ but failed romance…? _

Now she was excellently sure that her feeling had been right: Nureyev was going to meet and love her boy.  _ Oh, he must be grown now… And this man is going to hit hell real hard real soon. _ Evangeline was a Witch Gifted Cat: if this man was going to meet her first love, and the cards had said so, she was honor-bound (an emissary of fate, actually, thank you kindly) to see to it that he survived the night. No doubt existed in her mind that tonight would spin the roulette of his life.  _ A cat leaves nothing to chance, and yet… _

Nureyev got up quietly, ponderously. Evangeline and Presto watched him rise, their heads going up with his movement. “Gosh he’s tall,” remarked Presto. Evangeline couldn’t cuff her for that.

“Thank you very much, Madame Josephine, for you time. What do I owe you?” Madame Josephine shuffled her cards and said, without looking up, “seventy-five cents. I charge more, naturally, but it looks like you’ll need everything you can take. And…” Madame Josephine dug once more into the cushions, pulling out a very thin knife with a crucifix as a handle.

“Madame, I couldn’t possibly…” Nureyev’s protestations died on his lips as she folded his hands around the handle: it fit perfectly. Madame Josephine’s mouth curved into a wry smile.

“My family has always dabbled in these things, and we have never let a client perish after meeting one us. It’s bad for business, cher âme. The Lord be with you.”

Nureyev slipped the knife in its sheath up his sleeve, kissed Madame Josephine’s hand and left, somber and still sober, down the carpeted stairs and down the front door. Evangeline readied herself: she gave Presto a fond lick, for all the kitten had pretended to give her grief, and bequeathed her the bed. Madame Josephine got a rub and a purr, and off Evangeline went, out into the dark streets of New Orleans.

Naturally, her madame lived in the French Quarter. Naturally, so did Nureyev. And naturally, he had to take the back alleys home to his building. Evangeline wasn’t stupid: she was a cat. A black cat. A black cat who lived in the city. A black cat who’d lived with a psychic, and who’d lived in the streets of Chicago.  _ That man’s dumber’n a rat, thinkin’ he’ll get home in one piece after a fortune like that! Honestly _ . Evangeline followed him, completely sure she’d face a horror in the next five minutes.

“HeEeeeEy, Nurrreeeey’v!!” screamed a voice from out of the wall. Evangeline immediately puffed. Nureyev, to his credit, stood his ground, pulled out his knives and recited the Lord’s prayer rapid-fire in French. Evangeline hid in the shadows and flattened her ears: it was a black cat that’d yelled at Nureyev. A black cat the size of a crate with hideously long canines. To her utter disdain, it rolled its eyes wildly in its head and cackled.  _ Like it’s got the whooping cough, stupid animal. No decorum! Psh. _ “Youuu owe my clan a DEBT Nurey’v! And th’Ol' Man’s prayer don’t work on th’likes of me. I’m a cat, y’see.” _ A cat! That abomination? Not on your life. _

“And might I know what I owe? To whom?” Nureyev asked steadily, back to the alley wall. Evangeline would’ve curled around his legs if this grotesquerie wasn’t sitting on a trashcan. The thing made a hacking noise: it was in fact laughing.

“Oh  _ y’know _ ! The House Vigier-Angeveny!  _ From whom you stole the mummified corpse of the Marquis! _ ” it squealed, volume rising. Evangeline put out her claws. Nureyev’s eyes widened.

“That—I don’t have it. The man who had it is dead and buried,” he said, with hardly a tremble in his voice. The beast’s eyes swung so quickly Evangeline was sure they would fly out of their sockets.

“THAT SO!” it shrieked, its neck extending out two feet like a snake. “THEN YOU’LL HAVE TO PAY DEBT DUE, EH, SUFF’RANCE?” Mouth open and aiming for Nureyev’s jugular, it lunged; so did Evangeline. Nureyev had barely put up Madame Josephine’s knife and his own Bowie when Evangeline shot forward and sunk her teeth into creature’s neck. Yowling in fury, it thrashed like a heavy rope, swinging Evangeline around like a bag of ice and she was flung down to the cobblestones, but not before having felt the tips of its vertebrae. Hissing, she arched her spine and crouched to pounce. It spit at her; she spit back.

Before it could fling itself at anyone, the horror was impaled by the head to the street, cracked straight through the skull. The Vigier-Angeveny envoy’s tongue lolled out, twitched, and stilled, a cloud of nitrogen puffing from its mouth, a crucifix handle sticking out from what would have been an ear. Peter Nureyev slid down the brick onto the cobblestone onto his heels.

“Madame Josephine sent a guardian angel with me, did she?” In the faint light of a streetlamp, Nureyev smiled with all his teeth at Evangeline, licking her bloody paws, and pet her head. She purred against his hand, and stared into his eyes. Her ears flattened: behind Nureyev, she saw the abomination’s tail split in two rows of teeth, a second long mouth opening wide open.  _ Oh damn it all! _

Well, there was only one thing to do. Again.  _ He needs time. _ Yowling in warning, she streaked past Nureyev into the maw of the dying horror, and was chomped through the middle.  _ Hell, that hurts. _ Through the blood rushing in her ears, Evangeline heard a horrified gasp and the pop of a cork. The moon wasn’t up, but Evangeline supposed the cloudy night matched the look on the man Nureyev’s face.  _ How undignified _ , she thought with the last of her senses as Nureyev (who she desperately and secretly hoped would meet her first boy) put a match to a small bottle of what she supposed was holy water mixed with vodka. The dark took her before the light of flame did.

 

A cat always remembers its past lives by the time it can walk on its toes, so as not to make a real fool of itself by the time it gets old enough to eat meat. Every once in a while, a new cat comes down, and everyone can tell when a soul is new: a cat who sometimes gets its head stuck trying to get a snack, for instance, hasn’t learned yet that  _ sometimes _ , it takes fingers. But a cat always knows which life it’s on, and when the new one begins, and cycles so until it’s reached the end of its ninth one.

What had happened between being Evangeline and being as she was now, she couldn’t remember, and that publicly annoyed her and privately scared her; what kind of cat couldn’t tell how old she was? And that feeling from so long ago twitched in her whiskers.  _ I declare here and now that This is the most ridiculous thing I’ll think, but it feels, somewhat, like I never died _ . Her legs teetered beneath her and she shook herself before looking around; death could take her before she gave anyone the satisfaction of surprising her, but privately, she was amazed. Huge spiky trees arched up around her into a steel-grey sky, and the ground was covered in green, sharp-smelling needles that prickled her nose so she sneezed.

When she looked up, she puffed and arched her back: a black beast the size of a rocking chair lay in front of her, flicking its tail back in forth.

“Well?” it rumbled.

“Well?” she gave back, now sitting up properly, tail wrapped around her front paws. It would absolutely not do to be rude to something the size of a fridge.

“Weelll,” cackled a scarecrow voice, the shabby owner of which walking out from behind a tree. It didn’t bother her, but he was certainly wider than the stick of a pine he’d been hiding behind.  _ Aha _ , she realized,  _ I am dealing with the upper natural. Am I still dead? _ She asked the question.

“No,” said the behemoth simply. The flick of her tail asked the rest of her questions.

“It is not my place to explain. Mose.” The beast blinked, and the man named Mose dropped to the ground. The grin on his face was wider than his head, she noticed.

“You been real brave for a kitty cat, h’ain’tcha?” he asked her, putting out a hand for her to smell. _ Old meat, bones, and blue electricity _ , she concluded.

“No,” she sniffed. “My first boy gave me somewhere warm to be, I owed him. My second boy had a fate to fill, I had to see he made it.” Not at all surprising when the man nodded sagely like he understood her, and she didn’t wonder how he knew how she died. Everything knew about Mysterious Mose.

“Y’did the necessary, but not many cats die twice at the hands of demons.”

Her tail twitched. “A car is not a demon, even if it behaves like one,” she sniffed again.

“That was the Devil driving,” Mose said flatly. Her eyes betrayed nothing, but the tip of her tail twitched. “And that was a Great Duke o’ Hell y’stuck yer teeth inta. Musta taken some heavy binding to get  _ that _ one t’play nice,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “So tell me again, didja not do something ‘straordinary?”

She pretended to think about it. “No. I protected my people. That’s it and that’s all.” Mose went off in a peal of laughter and went flat on his back, and the behemoth rumbled.

“An’ she goes an’ she goes! Yea, that’ll do it.” Mose wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Black cat,” rumbled the big cat. “We are in the woods of Hyperion, the town where your first boy lives.” Her heart leapt in her little chest, and she calmly licked a paw. “And you, your life taken twice at the hands of the lower natural, you now walk as an endless spirit. Will you take it, so as to protect him? A lady now, so I heard.”

_ Ah, that’s why I can’t remember. Someone made it so I never died. How about that? _ Pretending to consider again, she gave her answer. “I’ll take it. A cat’s loyalty is always, after all.”

“Very good. Now open your eyes. All of them.” All three of her eyes opened, and she blinked.  _ Three times the staring power. Superb _ . Mose grinned hugely.

“Welcome to Hyperion, li’l lady. Here’s some advice b’fore you go into town: mind your own business, keep your wits about’cha, and the diner has the best loganberry pie in town. Mind, it’s the only place t’eat in town if’n yer cheap. Thas all? Good meetin’ ya.” Without further ado, he walked back behind the pine and didn’t reappear around it. The big black beast lumbered over to her and rubbed its head against hers.

“Welcome to Hyperion, little friend. Your first boy lives at the end of town. Your second boy is on his way. Be well.” And it too padded behind the pines. She sat for a while, breathing: some things took a bit to digest, even for a cat, even for a cat like  _ her _ .

Once her ideas were all in order, she took a quick look around for appearances’ sake, and tore in the direction her whiskers led her. Through the woods, flying over the pine carpet, over the asphalt parking lot at the edge of the town, into the town proper through the main street, over the dirt roads. The burning in her lungs and her legs she held in disdain, and the exclamations of “look at that speed!” and “was that a cat” she ignored. Once the feeling in her whiskers quit tickling, she lay flat on the road and breathed deeply.

The fact that she’d been stripped of her mortality not half an hour ago and had just run through town at top speed must have been the reason, she supposed, that she didn’t notice when a person picked her up around the middle and put her back on her feet.

“Hey, kitty. Didn’t you learn to not fall asleep in the middle of the road?” The man crouching in the road paused, and scratched her chin without letting himself be sniffed. Not that she minded: it was her very own Juno Steel after all, even if he had a big scar across the nose now and looked more tired. Purring, she rubbed her face all over the hand, until Juno laughed.

“First time a cat’s not been suspicious before. Where’d you come from, kitty? Never seen you—” He stopped petting her when she blinked at him. “No… those weird eyes, the color of new pennies. No way. No.” She’d have rolled her eyes if she could have; instead, putting her front paws on his knee, she reached her head up and licked his cheek, then rubbed her face between his eyes, just as she’d done when he’d been so very small. Once back on the ground, he stared at her, mouth open. “No way.  _ Clueless? _ ” She meowed at him and flicked her tail “It’s… nice to see you again, Clue,” he said thickly. Her tail pat him in the face. “Clue? That good for ya now?” Clue yowled, and nosed at his pockets. Juno picked her up and cradled her in his coat.

“I don’t have the money to keep a cat, what the hell are you even doing here? Stupid cat, can’t get a clue.” Juno chuckled when she butt her head against his chin.  _ Perfect _ .  _ You got big things coming for you Juno, I’ll tell you all about it _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Chapters are gonna be more sporadic, because I'm damnably bad at science and school Hurts me. This piece inspired by a wealth of pictures in the cat's Tag that I had to write a story about, so I mashed in some striking images. The story came to me right before I fell asleep, so of course I thought about it for another hour or so. It was Marlee first but Evangeline was supplied by a friend by accident and in My Own opinion, it's much better. Unfortunately, I learned about the Tarot. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	29. Roses

“Juno?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Why is the sink filled with roses?”

“Y’don’t like them?”

“Look at me, Juno, do I look, in any form of fashion, like the type of person to not like roses? I adore them. But I am wondering why there are, oh, about a four or five bushels of rather expensive blooms all over the kitchen. Juno, where did you get these?” Peter fingered a bloom, as Juno slid his arms around Peter’s waist.

“Happy anniversary,” he mumbled into Peter’s neck, missing the smile that crept over his lover’s face.

“Has it been that long already?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Have you just woken up?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Juno?”

“What already, be mushy about and let me go back to bed. It’s not even nine.”

“Very well, I’ll get to the point. Darling, did you steal these roses?”

“Me? No.”

“But these are—”

“Fog ’n Skyler stole them. From the mayor’s big party last night.”

“Weren’t they banned from being in a hundred foot radius of the mayor?”

“Y’think they care?” said Juno, propping his chin on Peter’s shoulder.

“If anyone does, it’s certainly not them,” agreed Peter, cupping a bloom in his palm and smelling it. “Oh, lovely, New Dawn roses. Here, smell.” He held it up to Juno’s face.

“Yeah, real nice. C’mon back to bed. I got somethin’ else for you.”

“My, my, detective!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Before you ask, Rita got it for me for Valentine’s. Said it’d come in handy. You coming?”

“With pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been one whole year since the idea took me by storm and I made the world of Hyperion, Washington! An' so long as my eyes are in my head, here's to lots more of the same! Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	30. Groundhog Day

“Broadcasting from the middle of Juno Steel’s living room, you’re listening to Hyperion Fog, Seance Edition! We’re joined here today by Juno Steel and Peter Nureyev, who some might call local legends, and others—well, probably just one—might call paranormal investigators. And that ruckus in the background is Skyler Stone, banging pots and pans; specifically, an antique silver serving spoon and my cast-iron skillet. Oh, and if anyone made of flesh is actually tuned into the frequency, you got a real problem and I suggest you go see Mose, and maybe Rudy. So! Juno, after you.” Fog grinned bravely at the swirls of mist and hollow eyes that prowled and floated ‘round the room.

“Thanks Fog. Hey, spirits.” The long strings of ghosts moaned. Juno narrowed his eyes at the ectoplasm that dripped down over Fog’s shoulders. “Just want to remind you of the community guidelines.” Juno started, eyeing Peter: the man in question didn’t seem too bothered that his hair was floating around his head as if underwater. “I figured that after the last incident this kind of thing wouldn’t happen anymore, but I guess I was wrong. Don’t know why you decided to break the rules today, but just in case you forgot: first, we agreed no haunting people’s houses unless you got a bone to pick with them.” Peter took that as his cue and popped the cork of a little bottle. 

“Second, no sucking the juice outta people, you aren’t vamps.” Juno flinched as static screamed through the room and Fog spun the dials all the way down. “Shut up. Third, don’t make yourselves visible to people you don’t have business with. That’s just—” A shuddering gasp wracked Fog as a ghost went through them, and Peter tore open a sachet of agrimony. Skyler stuck the spoon through the ghost and stirred, and it evaporated in a moan. “Rude. Okay, if that’s how you wanna do it.” Juno held out his hand for the bottle of holy water and agrimony, and pulled out his flask with the other. “Nureyev.”

“Juno…” Peter hesitated. “Do you even know—”

Juno rolled his eyes. “What do you think? Here, just—” He took the bottle from Peter’s hand, filled it to the brim with vodka from his flask, and shook it vigorously. “Skyler. Matches.” Skyler rustled in neir pocket and lobbed a Penumbra matchbook over the broadcasting equipment. Juno stared at the label. “Huh. I didn’t know the Penumbra had matchbooks.”

“It’s a motel chain,” Fog chattered, teeth clicking. “R-Rudy says there’s another one somewhere in Arizona or s-somethin’. In the desert.”

“Huh. The more you know.” Juno struck a match, put it to the the tip of the bottle, and threw it straight up. Every living person hit the deck, and the second floor of Juno’s building erupted in a spire of pale, blue-green flames.

“MISTA STEEL!!!” Rita tore up the stairs to her boss’ apartment and banged through the door, fire extinguisher in hand. Mostly relieved and a bit disappointed, Rita lowered the nozzle; the living room was not on fire, and four people groaned out from under various pieces of furniture. Juno unwrapped himself from Peter’s hold of arms and legs, and waved at Rita from under the table.

“Heyyy Rita. Sorry about the scare, but we’re okay. Spectral fire doesn’t hurt anybody.”

“Not  _ badly _ , at least,” came a muffled voice from under the armchair. Skyler Stone unfolded nemself in four parts and crawled out. “Ow,” ne grimaced. “Juno, y’know you got fishbones under there? Nast.” Neir pants were covered in dead leaves and dust.

“Oh, those are mine.” Peter leaned on his elbows, still halfway under the table. “Mine and Clue’s,” he amended at Juno’s glare. The cat in question meowed from behind the kitchen door, and padded over to Rita to be picked up.

“Mista Steel, are you  _ sure _ you’re all right? I was drivin’ by and the whole  _ place _ went up in flames I thought you were a goner! Or at least that you tried making a crême brulée even though after what happened last time—”

“You thought a fire extinguisher was gonna put out a house fire?” Rita shrugged with Clue in her hands. “That was… real brave of you Rita, thanks. But don’t run into burning houses: you might die or something, I don’t know.”

She brightened, and put Clue on her shoulder. “Sure thing boss! Say, where’s Fog? I thought I heard ‘em on the radio.” Rita gasped. “Did they  _ explode _ ?”

“Shoot, woulda been sight better’n this!” A hand waved from under Juno’s couch, which, having been salvaged off a curb in the fifties, was unusually low to the ground. “I’m stuck, also. Skyler, help me.” Peter watched from under the table as Skyler, both feet braced against Juno’s couch, yanked hard; there was a pop, and Fog Burns shot out from under the couch right on top of their housemate, covered in dust and coughing. “Mister Steel, y’oughta vacuum sometime,” they heaved, an arm slung over Skyler’s shoulder.

   Juno rolled his eyes and leaned back into Peter, now out from under the table. Clue hopped off Rita’s shoulder and sniffed at the fishbones.

“Spectral fire Mista Steel, you said it yourself. Anyway,” started Rita, getting comfortable on the couch, “I guessed somethin’ was up when you told me to take the morning off ‘cause you  _ never _ tell me to take a morning off not that I’d ever want to unless somethin’ real bad’s gonna happen so when you told me that I’d thought it’d be a good idea to—”

“An’  _ hoooow _ ’re we doin’ this mornin’?”

“Get help.”    

Mysterious Mose walked through the shut front door and bowed, removing his hat with a flourish before opening the door for the Penumbra’s concierge, fist poised to knock. The concierge made a moue of distaste.

“I wish you wouldn’t walk through walls like that, Mose. It scares the tourists. Detective.”

Mose snorted, and Juno muttered ‘damn tourists’. Rudy sighed, straightening his cuffs. In the age when he’d worked aboard the Penumbra streamliner (a name he had never let go of), dressing sharp was _de_ _rigueur_ for a man with his occupation (no one on that train ever figured out what it was was he’d been hired for). And even now, when all he did these days was sit at the front desk of a motel in the lost end of Washington or check that the bodies in the morgue weren’t moving, he’d kept the habit of putting on a suit in the morning and ironing his shirts before bed.

“Those damn tourists, as you say, are the only thing keeping my motel alive. Among other things.” He walked up to Peter, and put out a hand. “Hello, Mister Nureyev, it’s been a long time. Fog, Skyler, keeping out of trouble? Good.” Rudy glanced around the room at the leftover shreds of ectoplasm hanging off various pieces of furniture, and sniffed.

“I take it someone burned a cocktail of agrimony in here?”

“That, and vodka. I wonder, Juno, why you’ve got a flask of vodka after what we agreed on?” Juno ignored Peter’s stare boring into his bones and picked up his cat. Clue yowled after the fishbones.

“Says the guy who keeps loose almonds, knives and holy water in his pockets. Why’re you two here?” he asked, turning to Mose and Rudy.

“Aw don’ gimme that, dame d’tective.” Mose stepped around Juno, tipping his hat at Clue and sat, legs crossed, on top of the couch. Skyler and Fog waved from the floor. “It ain’ everyday a house goes up in blue fire, what wi’ th’weather n’all.”

“That, and the fact that it’s not everyday I get a customer to the motel; so when it’s Miss Rita herself yelling about some type of catastrophe, I had no choice than to answer her summons and come running.”

“He says runnin’, he means he came to get me an’ one o’ us was folded in’the trunk of Miz Rita’s car. No offense t’you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it!” Rita’s car, a pink Ford Fairlane she’d bought when it was new, only had two seats—one when the other was covered in snacks and a handbag. Rudy plucked a shred of ectoplasm off of the radio and rubbed it between his fingers: it turned to powder.

“Interesting… Who would’ve thought that spectral fiber is a non-Newtonian fluid?”

“Nobody that ain’ crazy in th’head’s who. Wipe yer hands boy, thas ghost meat yer playin’ with.” Without a word, the concierge whipped out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers thoroughly. Taking a look at the ceiling, Mose heaved a sigh.

“You gonna quit looking at my apartment like you wanna buy it? What did you come here for?” Juno asked again, tightening his hold on Clue, who mewed at him.

“Weeaall, I’m just wonderin’ what sorta spirits it was that managed to get in here.” Mose pointed at the spaces above the doors. “Y’got dill’n blackberry wreathes over every doorway and angelica in ev’ry corner of this room.”

“Huh. Good thing I don’t vacuum then,” Juno said, eyes boring into Fog. Their mouth thinned. Rudy stood in the kitchen doorway.

“If they got through dill, blackberry, and angelica, then they must not have been ghosts. Especially after that last incident. Mister Nureyev, what do you think?” Rudy asked Peter, who’d been deep in thought, looked up.

“I have no idea. If it had been poltergeists, the furniture would be all over the place. And it can’t have been ghouls, there would be more, hm, meat if it were.” Juno shuddered. Mose snapped his fingers.

“Oah, I git it. Fog, you wa’ broadcastin’ on them ghosts’s frequency, weren’tchou? I was listenin’.” Fog nodded. “So’s y’figured y’were talkin’ t’people ghosts?”

“That’s what we thought at first, ‘cause there were just some ghosts standing in the room. I thought they just got lost or something,” Juno shrugged. He’d been coming out the kitchen when he’d seen the ghosts, and had nearly dropped his coffee on the hardwood.

“Those herbs only repel evil spirits, is the thing,” Skyler supplied.

“So when they dissolved into wraiths and flooded the place, the thought occurred that perhaps these weren’t just lost souls,” Peter added.

“Tried talkin’ to them. Didn’t work out the way I thought, but, you know. It worked out.” Rita elbowed Juno in the side. “Ow.”

“Boss! Why didn’tcha tell me there were evil ghosts all around the place? I coulda called Fanny and she coulda exorcised them for ya or somethin’!” Juno looked down at her.

“Fanny’s an exorcist?”

“Well, kinda, she’s more of a witch. Like Skyler, but with bones and stuff.”

“Rita, do you really think a witch that works with bones could exorcise a room full of vengeful, dead things?” Juno sighed.

“Oh yeah…”

The concierge cleared his throat. “In any case, this is ectoplasm. Therefore, it really were ghosts or spirits of the regular kind that came to see you, Detective Steel, at first, at least. Your man Nureyev here knows what he’s doing with these herbs; there is, in my opinion, absolutely no way that these ghosts would have gotten in with any sort of malicious intent.”

“They woulda ‘sploded,” Mose nodded.

“Which means,” Rudy said somberly, “that the evil is coming from inside the house.” Fog groaned. Juno could feel a headache coming on.

“Not  _ another _ cellar specter,” Skyler groused. Just last week ne’d gone down to get beets from the basement and had come nose-to-nose with a ghoul—the curses Skyler had shouted were loud enough to be picked up by Fog’s microphone upstairs, to the utter delight of Miss Mary Anne Sequoyah’s fourth grade class and her own indignation.

“At least it’s not in the walls, y’know,” Fog nodded sagely.

“Weelll, whether y’like it or not, we’s got to get rid ‘o th’thing that turned all these spooks to haints. Elsewise y’might get a repeat o’ this bad business. An’ Jyuno,” Mose pushed at the doorframe Rudy stood under—it creaked loudly and let out some smoke. “Th’house ain’ gon’ take another o’ your mixes. Any more o’ yer unholy cocktails an’ it’s gonna start movin’ on its own.” Juno’s eyes went round.

“Hell no. Nobody turns my house into some Halloween freak show and gets away with it. Rita, get the flashlights. You’re sitting on them.”

“Can I bring my fire extinguisher boss?

“What would—yeah, sure, whatever. Bring it, let’s go. Nureyev.” Juno turned to Peter, standing arms crossed and leaning against the couch.

“Yes, detective?”

“I really don’t wanna ask you this but”—he took a deep breath—“will you come with us? You’re the closest thing we’ve got to an exorcist.”

“An’ ‘e’s human,” Mose added.

“And you’re human.”

“You didn’t need to ask, Juno.” Peter took Juno’s hands in his and kissed his cheek. “I wasn’t about to let you go down there alone, you know.” Juno let out a breath.

“Lovely. Here, Detective Steel.” The concierge held out a pistol. “Loaded with silver bullets. I doubt you’ll have to shoot a ghost of all things, but best to be prepared. Right.” Rudy held open the door. “After you.”

“Sorry about the mess; nobody’s been here since the last time the power went out. Must’ve been, what, six months ago?”

Rudy clicked his tongue, hand clamped on the handrail. It’d been decided that he and the inhabitants of the building—plus Rita—would go down to face whatever was in the cellar, while Mose, Fog and Skyler were left to sit on the landing, in case something got out and also because it was a small basement—not fit for seven people. (And Mose’s knees weren’t what they used to be, he claimed).

Peter, following Juno, Rita behind him and Rudy bringing up the rear, looked at the cracked ceiling over the stairs. “Now that I think about it, it’s a bit odd, isn’t it, Juno?”

Juno didn’t look behind him, as the stairs were fairly steep and the flashlight wasn’t that big. “Well damn Nureyev, you’ve been here for a while, what about this town isn’t odd?”

“Oh no, not that.  _ That’s _ not news anymore. What I mean is, have you ever noticed that this apartment building only has two floors, and it’s completely empty?”

“‘Course I have, I’m a detective. And the place isn’t empty,” Juno said, turning to face him. They’d made it to the basement. “I’ll introduce you to the tenants sometime.”

“Mista Steel’s kiiiiinda like the landlord here!” Rita stage-whispered. Peter’s heart skipped a beat.

“To ghosts?” he whispered back. Rita nodded vigorously and pretended to zip her mouth shut. Juno rolled his eyes. His building was decently wide despite having two floors, and the basement gaped at them with all its toothless darkness. When it clacked its teeth, all three beating hearts in the basement leapt; Peter’s breath left him as, simultaneously, Rita grabbed him by the waist and Juno slammed back into his chest. Silently, with no rustle of clothing, Rudy rolled up his sleeves.

Just inside the flashlight’s beam, some toes peeked out beneath a dirty hem, rubbed raw and red. Slower than his breathing, Juno raised the flashlight upwards; a dirty hem gave way to a dirty dress stained yellow and red, and a dirty dress gave way to a gopher head—eyeless, breathing shallowly through an open mouth. Its teeth clacked again. Juno took the safety off.

_ What are we going to do _ , Rita signed frantically into the concierge’s palm.

_ I don’t know _ , he signed back, knowing perfectly well what should be done. Of course, the building’s owner beat him to it.

“Hey… spirit. Just here to remind you of the community guidelines.” The spirit in question screamed and chattered its teeth furiously like a child with a stapler; it made to lunge, and screamed as its toes burned in the lamplight. Juno didn’t flinch; Peter, standing just behind his shoulder, would swear he looked bored, if the flashlight’s beam shaking hadn’t betrayed him.

“Juno,” Peter whispered, breath ghosting down Juno’s neck, not letting the gopher out of his sight, “what the hell is that?”

“No clue,” Juno whispered back. “Help Rudy, I’m stalling. Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” he continued at a normal volume. “So you’re the bastard that turned my place into a haunted house? Well you’ve come to one hell of the wrong house.” The gopher lunged to the side, but Juno had played flashlight tag before. He whipped the light around and hoped the batteries he’d found in the kitchen drawer wouldn’t give out.

While Juno held the beast in check, Rudy and Rita got to work. Rita quickly punctured an empty can of cooking spray and stopped the holes with tire valves. Rudy tapped the flat of a knife against Peter’s other palm; obligingly, Peter squeezed the edge of it, splitting his palm open. The concierge wiped the knife in his blood and passed it to Rita. Just as he did, the gopher’s pitch—which had been the pitch of a normal animal—hit a high, sustained C. Something cracked, and the light went out. Juno, who played his guitar with a blues open G tuning, narrowed his eyes in the darkness.

“Rita, now!”

“Ten four boss! Hit the deck!” Because it was dark, and because Rita was never one to do things by halves, she struck a match and spun in a wild circle, sending bright red fire into every corner of the room for good measure. Having lived their respective lives, all three dropped to the floor (Peter would swear that she singed his hair). A piercing shriek and its head went up in flames, and before it exploded, Rita snapped a picture of the eyeless gopher-headed person, running around with its head on fire.

 

“The hell goin’ on in—you’ll alrigh’?” Mose shouted, flinging open the basement door. A column of smoke greeted him. “Hoo-wee, smells like cooked gopher in here. Didn’ you’ll know the thing’s endangered?” Four smoke-stained individuals stinking of meat, iron, and Pam cooking spray tumbled out of the basement.

“Real shame, but you gotta do what you gotta do,” Juno heaved, coughing up a storm. Rita and Peter, covered in smoke and grinning wildly, were already discussing the polaroid. Rudy walked out last, cuffs rolled back down and covered in smoke. He coughed lightly, and shut the door behind him.

“S’it bad?” Mose whispered.

“You could say that,” the concierge whispered back. “I think we should continue this upstairs,” he continued at a normal volume. “If that’s alright with you, Detective Steel.”

“Fine by me, but we can’t leave the place looking like a cookout had a car accident.”

“Already on it,” declared Skyler from the top of the stairs, soapy bucket of water in one hand and mop in the other; Fog carried another bucket and several trash bags, and held a flashlight in their teeth. They mumbled and waved the bags. “Least we can do for putting up with us.” Ne grinned, and let Juno, muttering, through. As he came up last, Rudy whispered to nem.

“Watch your step.”

Skyler’s grin met neir eyes. “Hobnail boots,” ne whispered back, and tripped down the stairs, spilling only a little water.

“We’ll make this brief, as I’m sure you all have plenty of other things to do. That thing, in short, did not come out of the woods,” said the concierge, effortlessly covered in soot, leaning in Juno’s doorway. “Likely, Detective Steel, there’s a door to another world somewhere in your basement. You’ll need to seal it up. Or give it to me, I’m sure we’ll find room.”

“A portal?” Peter blinked. “Is that really possible?” Rudy raised an eyebrow.

“It has been some time, but I’m sure you remember my motel, Mister Nureyev. The Penumbra draws guests from everywhere and everywhen; portals aren’t that difficult to come by, when you have a place like that.” He smiled, and spun on his heel. “Call me, whatever you decide to do with the door, Detective Steel. Be seeing you.” Juno heard Mose snort behind the door and say something indistinct; he didn’t need to look out the window to know they were already halfway down the road.

“A door to another world in the basement…” Peter pondered from the couch. “Why on earth would it come through here?” Juno sighed like a deflating cloud.

“Because  _ you’re _ here, Nureyev. And I wouldn’t trade that for all the money in the world,” Juno mumbled, hoping no one would hear. Naturally, Peter did hear, and smirked, and went to his detective by the window.

“I’ll make it worth your while, detective,” he hummed, wrapping his arms around Juno’s waist. Rita slipped out the front door, quiet as a grave.

 

Skyler threw the empty buckets in the yard and garbage bags in the can, determined to clean them out later; for now, it was naptime. Fog meandered into the back of the house where their studio was, and plugged their equipment back into the wall.

“Signal, signal… And we’re on!” A leftover plume of cold air escaped their mouth, and they coughed. “Gooooood morning Hyperion, Washington! You're listening to Hyperion Fog, 10.20 on the radio dial. If any of you were on the frequency earlier, like I said: talk to Mose or Rudy about your condition.

“Sorry ‘bout the late start, listeners. We just had a wild mornin’ out here over by Sticks and Stone’s Antique and Pawn at the Steel Detective Agency, and it’d be a preference if nothin’ else happened for the rest o’ the day. A fella can dream. Anybody what saw that business with th’blue fire, don’t worry, everything’s copacetic; the building’s still intact, nobody got hurt, and we got Rudy out of his motel for a morning. Long story short, the detective rigged up a holy Molotov cocktail and purified the place in one go. Wildly upsetting for those of us what were in th’place, but supposedly ghost fire never hurt nobody. I wouldn’t credit that myself.

“Anyhow. After that business, Mose n’ Rudy came over and turned out there were some beast in the basement. Yours truly and Skyler didn’ bother goin’ down: one, too many cooks spoil th’soup, second we’s the both of us saturated in ghost juice. Had us a haunt in the cellar just last week, so you know the ghosts’d be upon us like the feds at a midnight juice party. We did the cleaning up after. Piles of ash, all the nasty stuff, you know how it is.

“I guess—oh, hang on. There’s someone at my window… Listeners, we have a guest star in our studio this morning, our very own Miz Rita!”

“Hey Hyperion! It’s me, Rita!”

“And aren’t we just pleased to have you. Say, Miz Rita, I got a question.”

“Shoot!”

“How come you got a can of cooking spray in your purse?”

“Okay, well, y’know that show with the lady and her walking pie tin and the tabasco and the butler with the mustache? So, I was watching the fifteenth season and…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lordy Lou, education sure is a whirlwind affair! Robbed me fresh of ideas. Brought to you by the vision of a seance and the slime of a Goosebumps book. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	31. Business as Usual

“I got a number 2, number 5, and number 8?”

“Down here. Thanks.”

“You got it. Enjoy your meals folks.” Juno nodded at the cook, and passed the plates down: blueberry pancakes for Skyler, a potato and cheese omelet for Peter, and eggs over-medium and hash browns for himself. He took a long draught of coffee, eyes on the mirror behind the counter. The diner was full of the early morning crowd, every seat filled, and the place hummed with chatter and the hush of rain. Skyler idly flipped stations on the radio.

“Damn nasty weather,” grunted the cook, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Damn rain makin’ my joints ache.”

“Damn straight.” Juno raised his coffee at the grizzled cook, who nodded back at him.

“So.” Skyler paused at the cook’s tone, half a pancake in midair. Peter put down his coffee. “What’s brings you folk to ol’ Slaughter so early?” Juno narrowed his eyes. The cook waved it away. “Only folks who come here at half past eight is the road crew.”

“I thought this place was called Auburn.”

The cook snorted. “Is now, wasn’t before. Name a place by what it’s about is what I always say.” Peter thought of the plaque he’d read in the town square before following Juno for the diner.  _ The town once named Slaughter, _ it said,  _ of King County, by Act of the Washington State Legislature, shall henceforth be known as Auburn. February 21, 1893. _

“Huh.” Juno took another sip of his coffee. “Anything interesting to do here, Frank?” Frank, the cook, raised an eyebrow.

“Along the lines of what?”

“Oh, well, you know,” said Peter, insinuating himself in the conversation. “Something, I don’t know, off the beaten track, you might say?” Frank snorted again and poured herself a coffee. Skyler carefully shoved half a pancake straight into neir mouth. Frank heaved herself off the counter and lit a hand-rolled cigarette.

“Georgina!” she hollered behind her.

“Whatcha want Frank?” came hollering back.

“Is there anythin’ to do in this damn town?” A cascading cackle bounced off the kitchen walls.

“Not unless y’like dusty buildings, man o’ mine! Who’s askin’?” Frank exhaled a plume of smoke, not taking her eyes of Peter.

“Some folks outta town.” Peter made a moue.

“Surely there must be something! Say, perhaps, something along the lines of a ghost? The Faceless Roamer of Auburn, I believe exists.” Frank’s cigarette went out immediately. Silence fell on the diner and breaths were held in suspense; Juno would swear later that he could hear his heartbeat. The rain rattled down the windows, and Hyperion Fog dared to make noise, their voice rapping up sharply from the radio on the counter.

“So the cops wrote me up for fifty bucks b’cause apparently it's  _ illegal  _ to call the mayor of Hyperion a ten-cent bastardly shithead and, in the words of Theodore Roosevelt himself, ‘a miserable little snob’ to his face in a public space. I ask you! I'll call that damned cuss whatever I please! First amendment doesn’t protect him from the consequences of his own pigheaded low-down clown-having SNIVELING LITTLE—” The sound broke off into static. In the mirror, a couple with two small children quickly turned back into the rain. The radio buzzed… then clicked back on to a smooth, cheerful voice edged with steel pens.

“We’re terribly sorry about the interruption, but this broadcast will pick up tomorrow morning at nine. Send all inquiries to either Burns Auto Repair or the Penumbra front desk. Thank you.” Frank reached over as the frequency went back to static and changed it to a classic blues station. Twenty road-workers stared at the counter, mugs halfway to mouths and eggs slipping off forks. Skyler took a sip of neir RC cola in the roaring silence.

“Just so we’re clear,” ne said, “I am in no way affiliated with anyone from Hyperion Fog and I’ve never heard this program before ever in my life, but I do agree with what that crazy radio host said about the mayor.” A grey and teal patch on the left sleeve of neir jacket said HWCR beneath three pines, FM 10.20 below them. Juno ate a forkful of hash, and the diner erupted back into high chatter. Peter graced his coffee cup with a smile, and Georgina joined them up at the counter.

“I ain’t never heard someone with so much moxie in my life. And on the radio no less!”

Skyler’s face quirked. “Fog doesn’t have moxie, they’ve just been in bad company is all. Palling around with folks with tempers like runaway trains.” Ne smirked past Peter at Juno, who scoffed. Peter put down his cup and threaded his fingers together.

“So,” he smiled at Frank and Georgina, “forgetting about small town politics, where might we find a phantom in Slaughter?”

 

“Fog! We’re back!”

“About time! In the kitchen.” Skyler, having knocked the mud off neir boots down the porch, hung Fog’s jacket on the coat rack and walked into the kitchen. Fog Burns, in goggles and gloves, was welding a sandwich together.

“Fog.”

“Uh-huh?”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Grilled cheese.” They lifted the goggles onto their forehead and turned off the jet. “And tomato soup for dinner. How’s that?” Skyler went to get plates.

“Fog?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Did the cops really writecha up?”

“They sure did, an’ here’s th’ticket.” Fog grinned wickedly, and put the pink slip into Skyler’s hand.

“So they really did fine you!”

“Sure did!” Fog slid a sandwich onto each plate. “An’ that’s fifty bucks I am not giving them I tell you what.” Skyler waved the slip in the air.

“And Ulysses Grant for trash talking the mayor?”

“And for throwing an egg in his wife’s hair.”

“You threw an  _ egg _ in the  _ mayor’s wife’s hair _ ?” Skyler smacked a knee into the table, and Fog nearly jammed their hand in the spoon drawer.

“Juno Steel! What the heck are you doin’ in here, where’s Peter?” Juno rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway.

“We aren’t joined at the hip like some old married couple, Fog.” They waited. Juno let his gaze sit on the ceiling. “He’s out front.” Nodding, satisfied, they pulled out two more plates.

“Four bowls of soup, Skyler. We’re gonna sit out front and see how I can blackmail the cops to let me be in peace.” Out front, Peter had already commandeered the deck chair that didn’t get up when you did, and Rita, sitting on some newspaper on the porch steps, was furiously scribbling out reams of notes.

“Nureyev, Rita.” Fog dropped the cardboard box and put the tray of sandwiches and soup upon it. “What’s writing?”

“Letter to that TV station to  _ not cancel my favorite show _ !” she shrieked, outraged. Fog nodded seriously and handed her a sandwich.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Mm, Fog. Here comes the brass,” Skyler said absently, back against the porch post. Fog cupped a hand behind their ear, squinting. Bouncing through the mist, they heard the distant wail of a siren. They grinned wickedly.

“Oh, no.” Peter shook his head, laughing, and drew Juno onto his lap.

“Fog, I swear, if you get us in the can…” Juno threatened.

“Aw, Juno, would I ever? This one’s on me.” They pulled out a can of shaving cream and floss out from their inner jacket pocket. “I’m a civic-minded person.” As the crunch of wheels on a dirt road grew closer, Fog shook the can—“Showtime!”—and popped the cap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off that post where the hush falls over a diner and somebody just keeps talking about dicks. Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!


	32. Chapter 32

Fog thickened the air between the trees, snaking paths between trunks and over rocks, a heavy blanket of thick white breath filling Juno’s lungs like wool. Rising up in the grey sky, the pines of Hyperion Forest loomed over Juno and Peter, ambling as quietly as possible over a carpet of pine and dirt. In the heavy silence of the wet woods, Peter hummed.

“I’ve never seen such thick fog before. Nor so white.”

“That’s ‘cause you shouldn’t. Fog this thick,” Juno spun a hand in the air, stirring it into a funnel, “is caused by ghosts. One ghost by itself can’t do much, but enough can drop the air temperature enough to cause fog. The color’s just, uh.”

“The color?”

“Nothing,” Juno muttered. Peter rolled his eyes, smiling.

“The color stems from supernatural influence, I take it.”

“Shut up, Nureyev.”

He did not shut up. “Juno, do you mean to say that we’re surrounded by ghosts?” He wasn’t worried (Peter Nureyev didn’t worry) but the thought that hundreds of souls he couldn’t see were listening in on a conversation, well. That was something else.

Juno sighed, running a hand through his hair. “No, it’s—damn. Fog knows more about the mechanics of ghosts than I do.”

“How apt.”

“Right? Anyway, they told me that it’s the same as dust. Like how people lose skin and stuff, this is what ghosts lose.” Peter made a face. “Yeah.”

Taking Peter’s hand, Juno led him over a rise of rocks into a gully filled with fog up to the waist. Peter sneezed.

 

“Juno?”

“Yeah?” The silence behind him stretched on, and the footsteps behind him stopped. Juno turned around. “Nureyev?”

“Hm?”

“You want somethin’?”

“Oh, nothing.” Taking Juno’s hand in his and the lead, Peter kept walking. He’d been about to ask how many ghosts passed through here, to make this much fog, but he didn’t need to. The Hyperion Forest was all around him.

 

“Hey, Nureyev. Watch this.” Juno took a deep breath and pointed at his shut mouth.

Peter blinked. “If you say so, detective,” he said, and kissed Juno, who made an indignant noise, rolled his eyes and exhaled. The fog in his lungs fell out of his mouth in a steady waterfall of cloud as thick as cotton.

“Not what I meant, Nureyev. When the air does  _ that _ , ghosts are around,” he coughed, the last of it trickling softly to the ground. Peter only chuckled. “Bastard. Anyway.” Juno pointed to the upwards, then to the ground, where a soft pile of smoke sank into the dirt. Peter sank down to his knees next to it, and prodded the pile. “That’s leftover ectoplasm.”

“ _ Leftover _ —” Peter looked up in alarm. “Is it  _ wise _ to breathe in the remains of dead people?” Juno shrugged.

“Not like it’s mummy dust or anything.”

“Juno.”

“Oh no, don’t you start—”

_ “Juno _ . Behind you.”

“Damn.”

In the spaces between the pines, figures hung in the air like puppets from string. Some had heads shaped like carnival masks, others with heads like cracked pottery; all were shrouded in long swaths of ragged cloth that hung from their neck to the forest floor, reaching from five to twenty feet in length. The tallest stood twenty-five feet in the air, its head a sun-bleached, four-horned cow skull. In a snap of cloth, it rushed forward, shroud streaming behind it.

Before Peter could move, it stopped an inch away from Juno’s nose.

_ “Juno Steel _ …” Smoke dripped softly from the holes in the skull.

“Obadiah,” Juno coughed, waving the smoke away. “Been a while. You can let go of my jacket, Nureyev, it’s fine.” Peter released the death grip he had on the back of Juno’s jacket and immediately took Juno’s hand. Juno gestured at Peter. “Obadiah, Nureyev. Nureyev,” the creature moved out of his line of sight, and Juno gestured at the array of shrouds and heads, “the Methodists.” Peter, a professional, only let his mouth open a little bit before he shut it. A very small Methodist, with an alligator skull for a head, spun in a circle, flaring its hem like a morning glory.

The Methodists of Hyperion lived as fa from town as could still be considered part of the territory, where the buildings grew sparser and the forest took over, in an abandoned Methodist church at the town limit. They’d had a different name in ages past, but once they’d discovered the church and made the place a hall, the residents of Hyperion simply called them the Methodists. On account of their length, the elder residents of the church preferred not to mingle in the town proper; the children, of course, being small, did what they wanted, and could sometimes be seen at Hyperion Elementary. (Miss Sequoyah’s room was the fan-favorite, being as she didn’t blink an eye when the Methodist children floated in, instead squeezing the children two to a desk to make space for the visitors.)

“I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a welcome committee.” Obadiah led them to the church, sitting, patched and tinned, on a rise between trees. In, on and around it were Methodists of various heads and sizes, peering out of the windows to see who was coming, the ones that had come to meet them having gone ahead to tell the congregation.

Being a gentleman in all respects, Obadiah kept level with Juno; his shroud trailed behind him like a wedding dress train.

_ “And we weren’t expecting you _ ,” Obadiah sniffed. “Your cat came and told us.” Peter, who had once been a chemist, had never in his life been more confused.

“She’s not anyone’s cat, Obadiah, she does what she wants. Been smoking?”

_ “Some _ .”

“S’not good for you, y’know. If I’m being honest, you sound like a washboard.” Obadiah shouted a laugh like a popping metal cork, his shroud wiggling behind him.

_ “Pulmonary problems for those with lungs, Sandpaper Steel _ .”

Peter blinked. “Sandpaper Steel?”

“ _ He’s a rough-song singer, Mister Mystery. The huskiest voice this side of the Cascade Range. Ask nice, he just might sing for you. Now, if you’ll excuse me _ .” Obadiah floated away, his shroud trailing over the pine carpet.

“Mister Mystery?” Peter asked again. “Juno, a word with you.” Tugging Juno back behind a tree, Peter tilted his head to Juno’s, hands on his biceps and whispered. “Juno, would you be kind enough to tell me what’s going on?”

The corners of Juno’s mouth tilted upwards, and he shrugged. “You said you wanted to know more about the Hyperion supernatural, didn’t you? Well, you got it.”

“Yes but,” he whispered, “what  _ are _ they?”

Juno covered Peter’s hand with his own. “They’re just Methodists, Nureyev, they’re harmless. The kids go to school sometimes with Mary Anne Sequoyah’s class, and they’re a riot on Halloween. They’re just like regular people, ‘cept they look like that.” Juno had a thought and  frowned. “And they listen to the local radio.” Peter heaved a sigh, and leaned against him.

“Forgive me detective, it's just that I've gotten the impression that these woods don't like seeing people get out alive.” Juno snorted.

“You and me both. Don’t worry though.” Juno patted his holster. “I’m packing.”

“You certainly are.”

“Peter Nureyev, I  _ swear _ —”

Peter, having been introduced to the grown folks of the church and done his best not to stare, sat on a three-legged bench outside while Juno caught up with Obadiah. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a small Methodist hover at the corner of the church hide every time he turned his head. He waited. It poked its head back out again.

“You that Mister Mystery?” It was the same alligator head as before, blue cloth and all.

“Not the name I’d have chosen, but yes, I am.” The child’s hem flared and it sat as well as it could next to him. The empty eye sockets gazed up at him. He smiled back. “And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“Oh!” The alligator jaws clicked. “‘So sorry, I’m Josie Lynel.” She nodded at Peter seriously. “An honor to meet you, Mister Mystery.”

“No need to call me that, Miss Josie—” he laughed.

“No need to call me miss, Mister Mystery. Besides,” she tossed her head, “it’s what Fog Burns calls you anyway.”

Appointed the leader of the Methodist children at the height of five feet plus six inches of alligator skull and the age of ten years, Josie Lynel was going to be a radio personality when she grew up. For now, she spent her free time with a homemade radio set-up, catching as many out-of-town signals and number stations as she could, and never missed Hyperion Fog’s nine a.m. broadcast.

Peter was immediately on his guard. “Oh, Fog’s show? I take it you’re a fan.”

“The biggest,” Josie nodded. It was a trial of strength to not start asking Peter all sorts of questions, but she had to remain civil. “My mom said I have to ‘remain civil’ in polite company so I’m doing that, but.” The hem of her cloth heaved, as if taking a deep breath. “Would you mind if I asked some questions? You don’t have to answer all of them.”

Peter laughed. “No, not at all. Although l imagine you already know everything about me, if you listen to Fog’s show. They’re unmatched for gossip,” he sighed. Josie tilted her head, considering.

“Not as much as you’d think,” she said after a while. “Rita probably outpaces them. She relaunched the newspaper did you know? According to Fog, she’s the new editor-in-chief. D’you know, Mister Mystery, I’m not sure I know your real name? If I did, Fog never mentioned it more than a few times.”

“Oh, I’m sure they did. Fog tells me I’m one of their main sources of entertainment.”

“For them maybe, not for the rest of the public forum. Hearing about the town’s not so bad, but that’s all they talk about. And monsters,” she added. “Sometimes. Oh, by the way, Mister Mystery, you sing?” He’d had a stint as a lounge singer in his wild youth, but that had been years ago, and he told her so. “I see… Well then.” Josie leaned her head to his conspiratorially. “Hear a secret?”

He leaned his head to hers. “Alright.”

“You oughta get Mister Steel out there to sing with you. Probably be a blast,” Josie whispered. “According to the folks, when he was younger he’d come up to the woods with a blue-tuned guitar and stick around for hours. Before my time, ‘course.”

“Is that so?” Josie nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” On cue, Juno walked out of the church.

“Hey Nureyev, ready to go? Looks like you made friends with the resident radio amateur, huh, pick your enemies, I guess.” Josie made a hand with her cloth and shook Juno’s hand.

“Hey boss. You livin’ large?”

“You bet.”

“Good!”

“Radio amateur?”

“What, didn’t she tell you?” Juno leaned against the wall. “This kid’s gonna be a radio personality when she grows up.” Josie smacked Juno on the thigh. “Ow.”

“Is that so! Well, I look forward to hearing you on the air, Miss Josie. See you soon?”

“Oh, count on it! And tell Fog I’m their biggest fan!”

“You got it kid. Tell your folks I said hello. Be seeing you.”

“Juno?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you do something for me?”

“Depends. What?”

“Oh, nothing much… I’ll tell you when the weather’s right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sakes Alive I really thought I wasn't gonna make it to May folks! Almost got hit on the road a few times, almost got brain fever. So sorry for the wait I didn't like that very much at all. Got a new story out I'm working on some more! Expect monsters, mayhem, and maraschino cherries.  
> Visit @hyperionwa on tumblr for the pictures behind the words!

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the world of Hyperion, Washington! All stories are written like this: I find a picture that looks like it'd make a funny story, I write a teeny little (sometimes large) spitfic to my friend, then I rewrite it like this, based on my spitfic. All pictures of inspiration can be found on hyperionwa.tumblr.com, go visit!


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